The More Things Change
by wryter501
Summary: Having raised Aithusa in Ealdor for five years, Merlin the former druid is now ready to join his friends in Camelot and discover what destiny might have in store for all of them... Intermission collection of stories following seasons 1 and 2, A/U of Vortigern's Tower.
1. The Dragonlord's Arrival

**A/N: Some scenes/dialogue/spells will be recognizable, but instead of copying verbatim, I'd instead like to explore how the events of **_**Vortigern's Tower**_** might have changed things for our young heroes… I won't go too far afield, but I hope it's not boring, at least, in spite of the familiarity…**

**Also, just fyi, there will be eps and characters that don't figure into this intermission story at all, and that's because they will appear in a different way in part 2… !**

**The More Things Change**

**I. The Dragonlord's Arrival**

Merlin's stomach was still flying. His feet were on the road, energetically covering ground, but his stomach was still mounting up and dropping in swoops of alternating excitement and fear. He had been waiting for this day for _years_… and he was afraid it was going to disappoint him in the end. Perhaps he should have walked the whole way, taken more time to prepare himself.

He shrugged to himself, smiling as he passed a gentleman on horseback, headed the opposite direction. Too late now.

Merlin wasn't too distracted to notice his surroundings, as he came over the hill and out of the thicket. It was amazing, the new citadel of Camelot, far grander and bigger than he'd imagined it would be. The rising sun gilded the high clouds lingering in the sky; it was beautiful, though it was likely to be clear by noon.

He kept smiling, as he strode through the lower town, feeling the pull of the straps of his pack over his shoulders. The people here were clean, friendly, walked with their heads up. And though the streets were crowded, there was a feeling of cheerful industry, of safety, that he knew was due to the fair rule of the king, the protection of the knights. It was childish, maybe, but he couldn't stop looking all around him, absorbing every detail of his surroundings, as if the one he was watching for might turn up at any door, around any corner. The feeling in his stomach swooped again – what would his reception be? He hadn't had any indication from the reply to his letter that his friend would prove as eager to welcome him as he was eager to arrive.

The white towers soared high above as he crossed the diamond-pattern cobblestones; there were two guards at the drawbridge, but neither of them spoke to stop him entering. Were they so fearless, then? Or was it that they had nothing to fear? That made him happy, too.

No one stopped him, but he figured they would before long; probably they didn't let strangers wander around the citadel. So he back-stepped from another doorway to face the guard on the right, dressed in chainmail covered by the red-with-gold-dragon livery of Camelot. He wanted to ask where the prince might be, but that would be presumptuous, he thought.

So he said, "Where would I find Gaius, the court physician?"

The guard looked a little surprised at being asked, but leaned into the doorway to point up a staircase. Thanking him with a nod, Merlin took the stairs two at a time, noticing a little sign on the way that read, Court Physician. He rounded a corner to the left and continued up another stair, grinning to himself. He was definitely going to be getting exercise, here – there weren't any stairs in all of Ealdor.

Reaching the door he hoped was the right one, he tapped, and it creaked open under his light touch. He poked his head in, saying softly, "Hello?" in case he was interrupting something important.

The silence was broken by the noise of bubbling liquid in a beaker in an apparatus that held it aloft over a candle's flame, and the squeak of the door's hinges. He glanced around, not sure if the old man he remembered would have left such a process unsupervised.

"Gaius?" he tried again, a little louder.

Movement caught his attention, high on one wall. He saw a narrow walkway, uneven shelves stuffed with books – and the court physician who'd once helped him save Arthur's life turned, surprised at his voice.

The walkway railing snapped behind him, and the old man flung his arms out, helpless to stop his startled fall.

Merlin reacted instinctively, slowing time to a crawl. He glanced about – he could catch the old man, but that might cripple them both, no, he needed – there. A bed. Another golden glance, and the cushioned furniture shot across the room, positioned itself under its owner. Satisfied, Merlin released the moment of time, and Gaius crashed onto the bed. Merlin reached to help him, but the old physician rolled off the other side of the bed, hardly winded.

"What was that?" he demanded irately. "And who are you?"

"I'm Merlin, remember?" Merlin said, smiling. "I wrote you a letter?"

"Merlin!" Gaius exclaimed. "Skin and bones druid lad? But you're not meant to be here until Wednesday!"

Merlin's smile turned sheepish. "I know. I was… a little impatient. So Aithusa brought me –"

"Good heavens, boy, please don't tell me you brought the dragon to Camelot!" Gaius sputtered. "If you haven't got any more sense than that –"

"No, just partway. He's off to the north, now, he was excited to be on his own, too."

"Ah." Gaius looked up at the broken railing, down at the new position of his bed.

"Sorry about that," Merlin told him. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"I suppose I should be grateful it happened when it did," Gaius said. "That railing has needed fixing for a while now."

"I can do that for you?" Merlin offered.

"Thank you, my boy." Gaius looked up at the railing again, then glanced him over. "But it can wait a day or so. You'd better put your bag in there." He gestured behind him to a short stair leading to a small door with a pointed arch.

"Thanks," Merlin said, heading for the room that was to be his new home. He stood in the open door, sliding the pack from his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. It was a storeroom, formerly, judging by the stacks of empty and half-empty crates, but there was a bed, a cupboard for his clothes and other things, and two tables for his use – one by the bed, the other under a high window, both with candles for his convenience in the dark.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to greet Arthur?" Gaius said.

Merlin left his pack – there wasn't much in it, unpacking would take all of five seconds, and could be done later – and turned, hopping down all the stairs at once. "Do you know where I can find him?" he asked, not bothering to hide his eagerness. Much.

"Training field," the old man said shortly. "Or maybe the side courtyard." As he crossed the chamber again, Gaius spoke after him in a cautioning tone, "Merlin," and he turned at the door, expectantly. "Please try to remember, any public displays of unauthorized magic will be highly offensive to King Uther."

Merlin smiled. "Right," he agreed, and ducked out the door again.

…..*…..

Arthur understood why things must be the way they were. For five years he'd thrown himself into his training and education as he never had before; Lord Geoffrey had been speechless upon several occasions. He'd been the model prince, strong, courageous, obedient, polite to his father's allies and their sons. Though he knew that Gaius had occasional correspondence with friends in the village of Ealdor, he kept his curiosity to himself, though every day brought back memories. The scar on his right side made sure of that - though it gave him no trouble at all, it was hard to miss, washing or dressing.

But tomorrow evening, the court would be celebrating the five-years' anniversary of the battle of Dinas Emrys, and Uther's coronation. Nothing had been said, by anyone, of the strange but vital role played by the druid boy. No acknowledgement was intended for Merlin Emrys, at all. Arthur found himself frustrated by this hypocritical oversight, and relieved his feelings the only way he knew how.

On the training field.

He was not alone, three other young knight-hopefuls were there also, throwing knives at the targets rather more negligently than he was, indulging in jokes and gossip that he ignored for a more concentrated release of tension. He was hardly ever alone, too many people wanted time in the presence of the crown prince, hoping to establish and deepen connections, curry favor, raise their status however slightly.

Arthur leaned into his next throw, hard and vicious. He was whole-heartedly tired of the games, the machinations of the court. Leon had been gone for some months, assigned to his uncle Lord Agravaine's holdings in the west. Morgana was back in Camelot, but now that they were both past their teens, the paths of a young prince and princess crossed but rarely – at mealtimes with their father, and not often, else.

He crossed the courtyard to remove the knives he'd thrown from the red circles painted on the round wooden target. He was never alone… but he was lonely.

Behind him, he caught part of a conversation from the other trainees, mocking the efforts of one of the servants whose job was to attend the training fields. _Where's the target? – There, sir. – That's into the sun. – It's not that bright. – Bit like you, then_.

Arthur turned to see the servant lift the target with difficulty – they were wide, and heavy – and begin to shift it to a more convenient position. He opened his mouth to protest; it wouldn't hurt the young men to walk ten feet to the side, and throw from the shade. And one threw the knife to stick, quivering, into the target as the servant still carried it. The boy's head shot up, his expression horrified.

Growling to himself – and yet somehow lighter of spirits, as he anticipated a confrontation that might help further relieve his frustration – Arthur strode toward them.

A shadow detached itself from the wall, to glide to the side of the servant, the tall skinny shadow of another young man, maybe another servant. His voice rose clearly through the whole courtyard, "Hey, come on, that's enough."

Arthur's sense of urgency halted completely. Part of him was content that someone else had the situation in hand, and part realized that his tension had turned into curiosity, that someone dressed in the roughest of country clothes would so quickly and confidently tell these young men what they couldn't do. And a small part of him wanted to recognize the voice. He kept walking, but slowly.

The young noble said incredulously, "_What_?"

The young peasant followed up, politely but firmly, "You've had your fun." He jerked his head, and the field attendant, Arthur was amused to note, obeyed him also, setting down the target and hurrying away with a single backward glance to the trio of knife-throwers. He himself couldn't stop his smile from spreading, but deliberately held back from intervening.

The young noble sauntered over to the peasant newcomer, stretching one hand within its glove as if tightening his fist in preparation. "Do you realize," he said patronizingly, "I could take you apart with one blow?"

Arthur murmured gleefully, "_He_ could do it in less." The other two, whom he'd drawn even with, glanced uncertainly at him. Probably they'd never seen a grin quite like this one on his face. He didn't even try to cover it.

The black-haired boy addressed the other's threatening swagger, deferentially but not fearfully, "I wouldn't if I were you."

"What are you going to do?" the noble's son sneered.

Arthur raised his voice. "Gregory, you have no idea, believe me."

Gregory turned, unhappy to be interrupted, but properly submissive to the wishes of the crown prince. The young peasant's face split into an ecstatic grin, and he passed Gregory with a familiar leggy stride. Arthur met him halfway, grabbing the offered hand as well as his upper arm.

"Merlin Emrys," he said. "Here in Camelot, at long last."

Merlin's grin was brilliant happiness, as he bowed his head in a gesture at once irreverent and courteous. "My lord," he said.

"You've gotten taller," Arthur noted, releasing him. Not much else had changed – limbs still long and lanky, the bones prominent in face and body, both. He had that air of windswept freedom that Leon had often carried, returning from a courier's mission, a fresh openness that Arthur had missed in the stifling airs of the court.

"You haven't," Merlin shot back instantly, the sparkle in his blue eyes taking the sting from the jibe.

It was probably true. The young druid was fractionally taller than Arthur now - and anyone else, Arthur would have been peeved to realize it. He took the sleeve of Merlin's brown jacket to draw him to the side of the courtyard, out of the way of anyone not deliberately approaching him.

"What the hell are you doing in Camelot?" Arthur said delightedly.

"Gaius wanted an assistant, and I figured it was time to turn my attention to the healing branch of magic."

"What about my father?" Arthur said, his joy abating somewhat, remembering the political climate he lived in. "What about your dragons?"

"Kilgarrah's still at Dinas Emrys," Merlin said. "Aithusa's going to be stretching his wings on his own for a while. I think Gaius talked to your father about me, though, he knows I was going to come."

Uther had said nothing to him. The distinct lack of complaint or threat from the dragons, over the years, probably had rankled rather than relieved the king. Arthur wasn't surprised, though, that his father had neglected to inform him of his ally's impending arrival, for Uther it was probably a question of _Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer_.

"You're going to have to be more careful," he told his friend. "You can't go around telling the nobility what they can and can't do –"

"Didn't you see what he was –" Merlin began to protest.

"And how were you going to stop Gregory taking frustration and humiliation out on you, hm?" Arthur said. "Use magic for something like that and my father will ride you out of town on a rail. Or-" he frowned – "at least, he'll try. Just, please, Merlin – be careful. For me."

"Gaius said the same thing," Merlin said, his head dropping as he scuffed one boot. Then his eyebrows lifted and the blue of his eyes glinted impishly at Arthur under the fringe of black hair. "You want me to promise not to use it without permission?"

"Uther would love to have that promise from you," Arthur returned. He noticed that the trio of his fellow knife-throwers was close in conversation with each other, all of them giving glances to the prince and the newcomer. Damn, this was going to get complicated. Gaius had been right, five years ago. "Listen, can you meet me here tomorrow afternoon? And trust me?"

"Of course," Merlin said.

Arthur began to stride away – there was just time for a bath before dinner, if he hurried. He turned around to walk backwards a few paces. "I'm glad you're here, Merlin."

That boyish grin hadn't changed much. Merlin said, "I'll see you soon."

…..*…..

Merlin woke early, a little disoriented, missing the quiet sounds of his mother beginning breakfast, or Aithusa's voice in his head – the young dragon was semi-nocturnal. It was quiet, here, though the glow from the high window over the narrow table said dawn was past.

He smiled around him at the dusty crates, the empty tabletops, the unfamiliar cream-tan blanket tangled around his body. He leaped from the bed and bounded up to the top of the table, with only a fleeting thought for the stability of that piece of furniture, leaning out the small window.

The town spread out below him, neat and organized and beginning to wake as well. He was in Camelot, and perfectly happy. The weather promised to be beautiful; he left his jacket and neckerchief both behind in his new room.

"Good morning," Gaius greeted him, turning with a bowl of porridge ladled from a small cauldron suspended over the fire. "Have something to eat, then you can begin with some errands for me."

Merlin slid onto a bench at a place at the table that had been cleared of clutter. Taking the spoon, he ladled one soupy bite hesitantly. He hadn't thought to miss anything of Ealdor except his mother – and her cooking. "Have I overslept?" he suggested hopefully. "I can start on the errands right away."

"Suit yourself," the physician answered. "Here – hollyhock and feverfew for Lady Percival. And this is for Sir Olwen – he's blind as a weevil, so warn him not to take it all at once."

As Gaius turned to face him, his elbow caught a bucket of water on the corner of the table – but one flash of Merlin's eyes was enough to freeze it in place. He pushed himself up, blushing a little at the old man's astonishment, then took the bucket to scoop most of the floating water back into place, and set it on the floor, out of the way.

Gaius made a thoughtful noise. "I had thought to let you learn your way around the town and citadel," he said. "To begin your apprenticeship. But I see that a long conversation is also in order, so I can get a better idea of what you know, and what you can do." Merlin nodded, agreeable to whatever his new mentor wanted. Gaius raised an eyebrow, and a plate holding a heel of bread stuffed with ham and cheese. There was a suspicious twinkle in his eye. "Off you go," he ordered gruffly.

…..*…..

Arthur was nervous. And therefore, early in the training courtyard, adjacent to the grassy field that led to a more expansive archery range and cavalry run.

He was warming himself up, pacing and swinging his arms. It was a test, and it was necessary, for both of them. For all the palace, for his father, for the knights, for the squires in training. The trio of nobles' sons yesterday.

But if Merlin didn't understand? This could end quite horribly for one or both of them, quite suddenly. And if he had to explain, it wouldn't really be much better.

The whispers had started already, the curiosity for the newcomer. His name and abilities, known previously to a select few, would probably become general knowledge soon enough. If it wasn't Arthur, doing this, it would be someone else. Someone who didn't care about Merlin as a person; someone Merlin might actually lose his temper with, and with disastrous results.

He needed to know – he needed everyone to know – _if_ and _that_ Merlin was capable of defending himself. Without losing control. So he wouldn't be tested again.

"Arthur?" Merlin's voice, questioning, approaching. He pressed his lips together against the smile that threatened – with everyone else these days it was _my lord_ and _sire_ and _your highness_. He hoped, with this boy, it would always be just Arthur.

He turned to face the black-haired druid, half-smiling as he crossed the courtyard, conscious as Arthur was, of the audience that was gathering. He was dressed, as Arthur also, in simple shirt and trousers, his dragon pendant on a new black cord visible at the base of his throat. Not even the jacket he'd worn yesterday, no armor. That was a calculated risk, also.

Arthur took a deep breath, stepping sideways to the weapons array laid out on the table, keeping his eyes on his friend as Merlin joined him. "I need you to fight me," he told the younger man.

Merlin's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed slightly in thought as he cocked his head slightly. Arthur held his breath, hoping… The druid nodded, glancing over the table.

"Choose your weapon," Arthur told him. And it might have been his imagination that one corner of Merlin's mouth quirked humorously. His hand drifted over the weapons laid out, long fingers and knobby knuckles, and Arthur suddenly recalled that the last time he'd seen Merlin, his hand had been bandaged against some injury incurred from the magic necessary to save Arthur's life. His mouth was dry. He hoped to high heaven that Merlin understood.

"How's this one?" Merlin said, stopping at a pair at the end. "Nicely dramatic."

Flails. One-handed, the chain long enough to require care not to smash the spiked head on his own hand on the grip. Generally used with shields, its liability was a lack of precision. But yes, as Merlin said, highly dramatic.

He took both by the handles, his right hand already sweating on the cord-bound shaft, and held the second out to the druid. Merlin took the unfamiliar weapon awkwardly, the weight of it dragging his arm down instantly in a way that had bystanders snickering. Time to put a stop to that. Arthur began twisting the handle of his flail, causing the heavy spiked head to circle the end, the chain clicking and beginning to whistle slightly. He lowered his center of gravity and began to circle his friend.

"Do not let me hurt you," he warned Merlin, who nodded. It relieved him a little to see the druid boy – older now than he'd been when he'd ridden to Dinas Emrys, that was odd to think – utterly fearless.

He continued to circle, forcing himself into a sparring mindset. This wouldn't work if he pulled his blows. He struck quickly, aiming a hit for the black-haired head, heart in his throat. He'd never forgive himself – and Gaius and Hunith and Morgana and – Merlin ducked smoothly, and swung back, an underhanded strike more reflexive than coordinated.

Arthur's wrist twisted as he'd been trained, and the chains wrapped. He snapped his arm back, effectively disarming the younger man. The second flail, disentangled from his own, went flying behind him, and he swung again.

Merlin's eyes _gleamed _with the gold of magic performed, and he leaned backward almost casually, as the spiked iron head circled before his face. Far faster than anyone should have been able to. Arthur relaxed, and grinned, stepping more confidently forward, swinging harder. Merlin leaped back, hard against the weapons table. He kicked at Arthur as he flipped backward over the scattering weaponry, and the heavy flail head thudded into the wood of the table. Merlin completed his flip, landing on his feet with the table between them, and how in hell – though Arthur already knew the answer – did Merlin manage to come up with a set of fauchard blades unattached to their poles, curved blades resembling a small reaper's scythe.

Arthur spent two seconds pulling his weapon free, then kicked the edge of the table, up-ending it and scattering the weapons and making the druid leap back as Arthur circled, spinning the flail expertly.

Three things happened in quick succession, then – always the lightest and quickest at footwork, Arthur somehow managed to trip on the corner of the table, right his balance, and trip again over a pole that bounced up on his shin. And his aim at the center of Merlin's forehead pulled short, as the flail head wrapped its chain around Merlin's crossed fauchard blades. Arthur was off-balance – the shaft flew from his hand as Merlin yanked against the tangled head to disarm him.

Breathless, Arthur dipped his left hand down as he skipped forward, coming up with the pole in his hand, wielding it as a quarterstaff. He rapped Merlin's knuckles, causing him to drop his blades, then swung it around – expecting Merlin to duck again, his aim was perfect - it thwacked off the younger man's right shoulder blade, tumbling him to the cobblestones.

Grinning, Arthur pushed the blunt end of the pole into the hollow of Merlin's throat like the tip of a sword. Merlin held up empty hands to signal his surrender, and the courtyard erupted in applause, cheers and whistles.

"Was that good enough?" Merlin said. He winced as Arthur lowered the pole and offered him a hand up.

Arthur gave a keen glance around, and mingled with the satisfaction at the prince's triumph was a grudging but definite respect for the untrained peasant who'd held his own so well and so long. "You all right?" he said.

Merlin rotated his right arm. "I'll probably have a nice bruise," he said.

"Make sure it's looked after before the banquet tonight," Arthur told him, as the field attendants came forward to right the table and retrieve the scattered weapons.

"Am I coming?" Merlin was surprised.

"Gaius is invited – as his assistant you can be there, but probably you won't be assigned a seat," Arthur explained. "Lady Helen is going to be singing, and the food is generally good." Merlin nodded. "Oh, and Merlin?" Arthur grinned at him. "Thanks for going easy on me."

…..*…..

Word of his match with the prince had reached Gaius before Merlin did. But to his surprise, the old physician spoke no word of censure as he directed Merlin to off his shirt, and dabbed a solution onto the bruise already forming. It smelled horrible, but did lessen the sting and ache, surprisingly. "You know you got off lightly," the old man said, as Merlin ducked into his shirt again.

"I have a feeling it would have been worse if he was actually trying to kill me," Merlin joked.

Gaius humphed. "Before the feast this evening, I have one more errand for you to run – deliver this to Morgana. Poor girl's suffering from nightmares."

"Gladly." Merlin smiled, the ache in his shoulder all but forgotten. He hadn't seen the black-haired beauty again since his arrival.

He knocked politely at her half-open door, and Morgana turned from her mirror, still holding up the dress she'd been considering, a princess from the smooth black waves on her head to the dainty pointed shoes on her feet. He held out the little bottle in explanation. "Gaius sent this? For nightmares?"

She gave him a smile, crossing to take it from his hand. "I see he finally found himself an apprentice," she said archly.

"Yes," he said awkwardly. "I'm – Merlin." Arthur had remembered, but though he'd actually spent more days' time with the prince's sister, she had less cause to remember him.

She cocked her head at his name, then gave a little gasp, flinging the gorgeous silk over her arm negligently and grabbing his wrist, shoving his sleeve up to expose his druid's tattoos. "Merlin!" she said. "I can't believe it! You're so _tall_!"

"I'm finished growing now, I think," he said, feeling his ears warm slightly.

"Hm," she teased, releasing him. "I think you could stand to grow _out_ a little more, you're still skinny as a stick. How's your mother? Is she in Camelot as well?"

"No, she stayed home in the village," Merlin said, fixing his attention on his sleeve.

"Well, Merlin, welcome," she said, returning to her mirror. "I hope you're happy here." A smirk tossed over her shoulder. "In spite of my father and his prejudices. Will I see you at the banquet, then?"

"Maybe," he allowed. "You can look for me in the shadows by the wall, where the king can't see me."

A soft laugh. "You know, it's a pity I don't have a choice of escort."

"Why, who are you going with?" he asked.

She made a face, a beautiful funny face. "Arthur."

He said immediately, "He can't be that bad."

She shook her head at him. "I forgot – you always defend my brother, don't you, Merlin?"  
He shrugged, stepping back to leave. "Til the day I die," he said lightly.

That left only Uther to face. He hadn't expected a summons to an audience, hoped rather to be allowed to slip into a low level of the social strata of Camelot without so much as a glance from the king who still made his blood run a little chilly. The banquet was the first time he'd seen the King of Camelot, and he remained, as he'd told Morgana, on a shadowy stair off one side of the high table, where the monarch was seated, flanked by his children – the prince on the right hand, the princess on the left.

Gaius, as court physician, had his own place at a lower table, but between his raised-eyebrow glances and Merlin's own playfully pleading gaze, he was allowed to snag quite a feast of his own from the servants' passing trays.

The highlight of the evening was a performance by a visiting noblewoman, Lady Helen of Mora, an attractive middle-aged woman with a kind smile. And if, while she was singing and the audience was enthralled, King Uther looked with deliberate evaluation toward the hidden stair, no one else seemed to notice. Merlin himself pretended obliviousness, but made sure to absently rub his bruised shoulder and wince.

Uther turned back to the performance with a satisfied expression, and Merlin hoped he was convinced that Prince Arthur had decisively shown the newly arrived sorcerer his place.

He had the idea that things could have been a lot worse, for his first few days in Camelot. And the suspicion that it couldn't be this easy, every day.


	2. Valiant

**II. Valiant**

If the banquet was the nobles' celebration of the five-year anniversary of the coronation of Camelot's king, the three-day tournament of champions the following week was Uther's treat to the commoners. The stands were filled, as they had been every year since Dinas Emrys, with enthusiastic, attentive spectators.

"Knights of the realm," Uther began his welcoming speech. "It's a great honor to welcome you to Camelot." Having heard the speech – and many similar ones – Arthur let his eyes wander a bit, and noticed that Merlin had drifted to a position next to Morgana. "Over the next three days," Uther continued, "you will put your bravery to the test, your skills as warriors, and of course, to challenge the reigning champion – my son, Prince Arthur."

At that, Merlin gave him an impudent look with arched eyebrows, and an abbreviated bow. Arthur almost rolled his eyes at his friend, but was caught by the backward glance of a knight in a row ahead of him, a short-haired, broad-shouldered man whose knowing smile did not reach his eyes. Cold, calculating eyes, as he sized up Arthur, the champion, his competition, in a swift second… and seemed to dismiss him in a way that left Arthur with a wary shiver of apprehension.

The king went on to mention the reward for the victor, and added, by way of dismissing the assembly, "It is in combat that we learn a knight's true nature, whether he is indeed a warrior… or a coward."

As the crowd began to disperse, it being a few hours til the first match was set to begin, Arthur found Merlin appearing at his elbow.

"A thousand gold pieces," the young druid murmured. "Perhaps I should have entered."

"You already have a treasure," Arthur reminded him.

"And so, evidently, do you," Merlin said. "Champion." Arthur pushed his shoulder, and Merlin retaliated, "Are you nervous?"

"I don't get nervous," Arthur scowled, pushing his gloves more tightly onto his fingers.

"Really?" Merlin went on innocently, "I thought everyone –"

"Will you shut up?" Arthur said. Merlin's blue eyes laughed at Arthur, dispelling his doubts, and helping to center and settle him for his own first match.

…..*…..

Merlin pushed his way through the crowd and sprinted to his mentor's chamber, arriving just as the two guards who'd carried the injured knight for treatment were leaving. "How is he?" he asked the old physician breathlessly. Finally something more than delivering remedies and draughts around the castles' inhabitants, he was excited and worried all at once.

"It's most odd," Gaius said, looking up from the patient's bedside. "Look at this." Merlin approached, confused. Surely a wound sustained in a combat match would be fairly straightforward. He rounded the bed and followed Gaius' pointing finger to the two dark puncture marks on the knight's dusky skin. "Looks like a snake bite," the physician concluded.

"How could he have been bitten by a snake?" Merlin said, confused. Everyone in the audience would have noticed such a danger on the packed earth of the tournament circle. "He was injured in a swordfight."

"The symptoms are consistent with poisoning," Gaius said. "Slow pulse, fever, paralysis."

"Can you heal him?" Merlin asked.

Gaius quirked an eyebrow at him. "A poison is a tricky thing, my boy," he said. "Even for magic to heal. It is best to identify the poison first, in any case. If it's a bite, I would have to extract venom from the snake that bit him to make an antidote."

"And if he doesn't get the antidote?" Merlin said, though he already suspected the answer.

"There's nothing more I can do for him," Gaius admitted sadly. "He's going to die."

Merlin hesitated only the fraction of a second before posing the question he had come to Camelot to ask. "Is there anything I can do for him?"

The old physician thought, pressing his lips together, then shook his head slowly. "There are as many as four different types of snake venom, Merlin, and without knowing what kind of snake attacked Sir Ewan…"

"You can't tell from his symptoms?" Merlin said.

"Eventually the physical evidence will indicate the type of snake. But by that time, many of the treatments will be too late."

Merlin pushed away from the patient bed, began to pace. Snakes made no sense at all. There were no snakes in the arena. He stopped, squeezing his eyes shut, replaying the last match in his mind. "He was fighting Knight Valiant," he said aloud. There were snakes in the arena – three of them, large and green, twisted on the shield of the knight from the Western Isles.

"What's that?" Gaius said.

"Nothing." Merlin leaped for the door.

Valiant and Ewan's match had been the last of the day. And this his second week in Camelot, he knew where the visiting knights would be quartered. He made his way, quickly and silent and unseen, to that short hallway, and heard a voice. Valiant, if he wasn't mistaken. If someone was with him, Merlin would just have to wait – he peeked around the corner of the open door and just about fell over in shock.

The knight held a mouse by the tail, a live mouse, legs splayed, spinning slightly. And a large green hissing head emerged from the smooth metal of the shield. Valiant lifted his head suddenly to look toward the door, and Merlin ran once more.

Bursting through Gaius' door, his attention was focused on the old physician still at the patient bed, straightening from what care he could provide for the unconscious knight. "I've just seen," he panted, leaning back against the door, "one of the snakes on Valiant's shield come alive."

"Merlin!" Gaius said. "Are you sure?"

"You think I would make this up?" Merlin exclaimed. "The snake ate a mouse – one swallow, straight down!" He made a motion down his own throat, to emphasize his point, and crossed the room. "Can we identify the type of poison by what the snake looked like?" he asked. "Then I could help Ewan, and we wouldn't need to wait on an antidote?"

"Possibly." Gaius straightened, went to his haphazard bookshelf. "Tell me as much as you can remember – the pattern of the scales, the approximate length and girth, what the pupils of the eye looked like, the shape of the head and description of the tail plates."

As Merlin answered, the old physician grunted, and finally found the book he was looking for, thumping it dustily open on the desk. Merlin looked over his shoulder as he thumbed through the pages, catching fascinating glimpses of creature sketches and plant illustrations. "Ah, here," Gaius said. "Can you read this spell?" Merlin scanned the line twice, correcting his pronunciation internally, then nodded and returned to the patient bed, ready to perform his first bit of healing magic in Camelot. "Wait," Gaius said suddenly.

"What is it?" Merlin asked.

"Knight Ewan is only one man," the old physician said. "What if Valiant uses his shield again?"

"Then I'll know what spell to use to –"

Gaius was shaking his head before Merlin finished. "No, that's not good enough. We must think about prevention, and justice."

Merlin frowned. "I'll just tell Arthur."

"And what proof will you offer?"

"Proof?" Merlin said, feeling slightly provoked. Why was it that he was always being asked to prove what he knew was true. "He'll believe me."

"Uther won't."

"Uther will believe you, won't he?"

Gaius hesitated. "You must understand, Merlin, I am no more a noble than you are. He can and will discard both my medical opinion and diagnosis if it conflicts with the word of a visiting knight and noble."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Surely once Ewan is healed, he can testify as to what happened, and then the king will deal with Valiant?" Gaius still hesitated, then nodded his agreement. Merlin positioned himself over the body of the unconscious knight, repeated the spell one more time silently, then spoke, feeling the magic flow.

It was a satisfying feeling, until he realized that Ewan's eyes hadn't opened. He glanced up at Gaius, who reached to check the knight. "Don't worry," Gaius said. "Poisons take a longer time to recover from. What you've done is neutralize the substance within his system. His body must be allowed to recover – overnight, say – and he should be fine come morning."

"I'm going to talk to Arthur," Merlin said.

…..*…..

Arthur sat at the long formal dining table with the rest of the competitors. Those who had advanced sat at the head of the table next the king, while those who'd been defeated were grouped toward the foot. That meant he was seated across from Valiant.

He ate, chewing and swallowing, trying to follow the conversation, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong with him. Trying to forget Merlin's words about the knight seated across from him charming his father. _He's using magic to cheat_.

_What do you need me to do?_ he'd asked Merlin. Because of course his friend could not go to Uther with the accusation.

_Just – make sure he stays at dinner_, Merlin had suggested with a secret smile.

More than that, he didn't want to know. So he ate, and tried to smile. _Yes, father, it would be wonderful if Knight Valiant stayed in Camelot after the tournament. We need more men like him_. He clenched his fist under the table.

And as soon as it wasn't rude, he excused himself to stalk back to his room. Merlin was waiting for him.

"Well?" he demanded.

Merlin spoke quickly, as though he had to get it all out before Arthur stopped him. "Ewan was winning, so of course Valiant had to cheat." He gestured to the table, and Arthur crossed to see the severed head of a green snake, larger than his fist. "He was bitten by a snake that came out from the shield when he was pinned under it, when no one could see it – Gaius showed me the wounds in his neck where the snake bit him."

Arthur picked up the gruesome object gingerly, careful to keep his fingers clear of the needle-sharp fangs, and spoke slowly, "Valiant wouldn't dare use magic in the tournament, not in Camelot, not right in front of my father." It would be the height of dishonor, to cheat with magic in a competition of arms.

"Look at it! Have you seen snakes like this in Camelot? Ewan was healed of the snake venom," Merlin said. "When he's conscious in the morning, he'll tell you."

Arthur shook his head slowly, but not in disbelief. How on earth did Merlin get stuck saying such absurd things that were true? There's a dragon under the hill; there's a snake in the shield.

"I know that a sorcerer's word doesn't count for anything here," Merlin said in a low, intense voice, "but I wouldn't lie to you."

Arthur lifted his head to lock his gaze with his friend's. "I know that," he said. The problem wasn't truth, but the perception of it, and how that would be twisted, depending on who spoke it. It wasn't as simple as Merlin evidently thought. "Thank you," he concluded. "I'll see you in the morning." Merlin nodded, and left quietly, opening the door only far enough to slip through.

…..*…..

Merlin entered the throne room, at the back of the crowd, and made his way to a pillar, where he could be close to Arthur but still unobtrusive. He was Gaius' representative, while the old man finished with his recovering patient, and Arthur's support, even if his word as a witness would not be admitted. It was early, yet, Arthur must have wanted to deal with this before the matches of the day began. Before another competitor was in danger from the ensorcelled shield.

Uther strode through the double doors, demanding of the prince, "Why have you summoned the court?"

Arthur went straight to the point, calm and expressionless. "I believe Knight Valiant is using a magic shield to cheat in the tournament."

A gasp rippled through the crowd, but Merlin was concentrated on three men only. Uther turned to Valiant, who was dressed for the tournament grounds, chainmail and sword and shield. "What do you have to say to this?"

Valiant was coolly collected. "Ridiculous. I've never used magic." The slightest of pauses, as the knight subtly shifted himself closer to the king and further from the prince, addressing the first solicitously as he ignored the second. "Does your son have any proof to support this?"

Uther turned as Arthur held out his hand, palm up and flat, the severed snake's head clear for all to see, somewhat less gory than the previous night. "Let me see this shield."

Merlin had moved before he was aware of his own intention. He'd assumed that Valiant merely wanted to ensure his victory for the thousand gold pieces, but what if there was more to it? King and prince of Camelot both stood within striking distance. He hissed to Arthur, "Don't let him get too close."

Arthur responded immediately, drawing his sword. "Be careful, my lord."

Uther affected not to hear him, instead reaching out to touch the painted snakes on the shield – three still, looking no different than before. Merlin's heart dropped – if he'd believed Arthur, the king would not have dared that, not even to prove his own courage.

Arthur was thinking the same thing, maybe. He leaned closer to Merlin and said in a low voice, "We need Ewan, find out what's happening."

Merlin turned away as Valiant protested the innocence of his shield. Gaius had entered the throne room, but he was alone. Merlin crossed to him at once. "What's wrong?" he said. "Where's Sir Ewan?"

Gaius shook his head sternly. "He's dead."

Merlin swore inwardly. "What happened?" he said desperately. "I thought that the spell worked? You said –"

"As far as I can tell, Merlin, he received a second dose of the venom," Gaius said.

"How is that _possible_!" Merlin spat. _I should have cut off all three heads!_ he told himself. Long-remembered words from the great dragon - _never believe that another man's decision to kill or spare brings any fault to _you– brought some small comfort. He turned back to Arthur with a feeling of dread as the king demanded the witness.

"He should be here," Arthur assured his father, and turned to Merlin, who hadn't dared approach further than a few feet from the rest of the crowd. "Where's Ewan?"

"He's dead," Merlin admitted to his friend.

"I'm waiting!" Uther snapped, and Merlin was acutely conscious that this time, they did indeed have plenty of audience. More was at stake than the truth – reputations were at stake, and they mattered, he guessed, much more to nobility than someone like him understood.

Arthur squared his shoulders. "I'm afraid the witness is dead." Was that triumph Merlin saw flash in the visiting knight's eyes?

"So you have no proof to support these allegations?" Uther pressed. Arthur gestured to the decapitated serpent, Uther dismissed it with an impatient wave of his hand. "Have you seen Valiant use magic?"

"No," Arthur said, "but Merlin –"

"Ah," Uther said, as if everything made sense to him now. It sent shivers up Merlin's back. "_Merlin_. The sorcerer."

Valiant _looked_ at him. Then protested loudly, "Am I really to be judged on hearsay from a _boy_?"

Merlin took one step forward, keeping his eyes on the one he saw as the enemy. "I've seen those snakes come alive." It was as good as claiming responsibility for the killing of one of them.

"How dare you interrupt!" Uther snarled at him. "Guards! Lock him in a cell."

Merlin almost snorted – as if the cells could hold him. He took in Arthur's pale resolution, and Gaius – he didn't dare to look at the old physician. With sickening clarity, he realized that the cells would have to hold him, unless he wanted to leave Camelot immediately. And before Merlin could form another thought, the two guards had come forward from their place attending the double doors to take him by the arms, spin him about to march him out.

Then Valiant said, with a wicked mix of deference and condescension, "My lord, if your son made these accusations because he's afraid to fight me, then I will graciously accept his withdrawal."

Merlin dug in his heels and twisted to see over his shoulder. To see the king respond to the suggestion with distaste and disappointment in his expression as he looked at his son, "Is this true? Do you wish to withdraw from the tournament?"

"No." Arthur's back was to him, but he knew that the blank look of suppressed emotion was back on the prince's face.

"Then what I am to make of these accusations?" Uther said. "And the involvement of that – _sorcerer_?"

As Arthur began to word an apology, Merlin stopped struggling against the guards.

The cell they locked him into was about the size of his new room. Instead of being dank unpleasant, the air was light, due to a small window high on one wall. He could probably scramble up and peek out if he wanted, but a rectangle of blue sky was visible nonetheless. It was dusty and gritty but not foul, straw on the floor, and against one wall a pallet that was at once thin and lumpy. He began to pace.

Uther would be happy of any excuse to keep him here for the rest of his life, he knew. That was not surprising; there was no love lost between them and it was not something that Merlin regretted, except for Arthur's sake. He would not allow Uther to make him an enemy. And Valiant – knowing now that Merlin had literally cut the effectiveness of his secret weapon by a third, and that as a sorcerer, he would be the only one who could conceivably stop him from winning his goal – would probably push for Merlin's continued incarceration.

He was so distracted by his thoughts, and the scuffling of his boots in the straw, that he didn't notice his visitor until Arthur spoke.

"I looked a complete fool."

Merlin took two steps to reach the bars, ducking slightly to see Arthur's face where he stood in the center of the passage. "I know it didn't go exactly to plan," he began.

"Didn't go to plan?" Arthur blazed, his blue eyes furious. Merlin didn't think he'd ever seen his friend so angry. "My father and the entire royal court think I'm a coward!"

"We can still –"

"Dammit, Merlin!" Arthur slammed his palm against the iron bar. "No, nothing can be done. That was our only chance to convince the king."

Merlin pressed closer to the bars. "Don't fight Valiant, Arthur."

Arthur's head was down. He reached out his hand and curled it around one of the bars, the one next to the one Merlin gripped. "I have to," he said softly. "Gaius has the antidote, right? Then perhaps my father…"

"Withdraw," Merlin said suddenly. Maybe Gaius could indeed formulate an antidote, maybe Uther would let Merlin out of the cell to heal Arthur if he were struck also, but… "You have to withdraw," he said. "Refusing to fight a cheater isn't dishonorable, is it?"

"Don't you understand?" Arthur said tiredly. "I can't withdraw. I'm expected to fight – my word, my honor, my courage was publicly challenged. I don't have a choice. How can I lead men into battle if they think I'm a coward?"

"I won't let him hurt you," Merlin said in a low voice.

Arthur still didn't meet his eyes. "You're to stay in the cell until after the championship has been decided," he said, with hollow humor. "To ensure that you don't meddle with the outcome. To ensure that – I don't cheat with magic."

Merlin moved his hand to touch Arthur's on the iron bar, but the prince pulled back at the same moment, turned to stride away. Merlin craned to see him as long as possible, then kicked the straw explosively. He'd made it worse, he could see that – but what else was he to have done?

…..*…..

Arthur stood in his chamber, fully dressed, gazing out his window toward the tournament grounds. The final. He and Valiant and that damn shield. And Merlin in the cells – he knew that the druid would indeed break himself out in order to save Arthur's life, but that would mean the end of his Uther-tolerated stay in Camelot. He hoped Merlin had more sense than that. He'd survive. Somehow.

Behind him, the door creaked, and he turned to see Morgana enter, dressed in her tournament finery, also. Her face was pale, the usual teasing smile replaced by worry. Worry for him.

She crossed to him slowly, picking up his sword from the table as she came, hesitating only momentarily at the grotesque head of the snake still uselessly beside it. "That's absolutely disgusting, Arthur," she said lightly. As he faced her, remaining silent to hear what she had really come to tell him, she slid the sword into his belt. "I had a dream," she said finally.

He sighed. "What did you see?"

"Valiant will kill you if you fight," she said. "You were on your back, and he brought his sword down…"

"It doesn't always happen as you think it will," he reminded her. She looked unconvinced. "Just – stay close to Father." The king would be armed, though it was mostly for ceremony, anymore – but at least they could protect each other, no matter what happened with Valiant.

"I'm to be escorted to the victor's feast by the champion," Morgana said. Then she gave him a deliberately cheerful smile that didn't reach her green eyes. "I suppose I'll have to suffer through your company, then, again."

He smiled, and offered his elbow. "Shall we?"

…..*…..

Merlin paced so furiously he was out of breath. He'd gone through half a dozen plans in his mind, each more elaborate than the next. How to accomplish a magical protection of his prince without leaving the cell, without anyone knowing that he had interfered. He shook his head violently. Time was running out. The final match would begin any second, if it hadn't already. All he had thought of was to bring the snakes out of the shield before Valiant could get close to Arthur – let everyone in the crowd, nobility and common people alike, see for themselves. Gaius had been right about such a demonstration with Merlin in attendance, that it would be blamed on him, so if he could manage such a thing while he was so obviously elsewhere, that would do the job. However, spell-casting just about _always_ required the presence of the sorcerer.

His thoughts were interrupted by the banter of the guards on duty in the antechamber down the hall from his cell. A maid had evidently just brought a pitcher of watered wine, in sympathy for their predicament, stuck guarding a prisoner while everyone else watched the tournament's final.

"If only," one of them said, "we had a way of seeing the match from here. Pour me some more of that, love – a good cupful, now."

Inspiration struck. He leaned against the bars of the cell. "Hello?" he tried. "Um, could I have a drink, please? Just some water in a small cup?"

They grumbled, they shuffled, they delayed, while his heart pounded. Finally one sauntered slowly down the row of cells – Merlin reaching as far as he could between the bars for the cup of water. "Thank you," he said, before the vessel had even touched his fingers. "Really, thank you."

The guard grunted and returned to his wine and his comrades and the sympathetic maid, while Merlin turned his back to the bars, folded himself to a sitting position, cradling the small cup of water between his palms. He whispered the spell, "_Gewitte me yst, aliese hine_." He held the vessel absolutely still, as the image appeared on the surface of the water, not disturbed by the slightest ripple.

His breath caught in his throat – they'd begun already, two figures in chainmail, the red and the yellow tunics, exchanging blows. Arthur was down on his back, Valiant stabbing downwards, Arthur rolling out of the way just in time. Now or never.

Merlin focused his vision on the shield – through the water, to the reality it showed, the smooth metal, the paint, the enchantment that lay over and on it. He must break the power of the shield's owner, must assume that command over the snakes himself, force them to come forth alive, to show themselves. All through the tenuous connection of the water-scrying.

He spoke with as much intensity as he could muster, "_Berbay odothay arisan quicken_!"

The magic left him, streaming through the water vision – eagerly, almost, in defense of the prince. He saw the two remaining heads emerge, the two warriors fall back from each other. He saw the consternation on Valiant's face, the horror on Uther's, the focus on Arthur's. He hung onto the spell long enough to see Arthur decapitate the two great green serpents with one stroke and smiled, knowing that the prince would be safe.

…..*…..

Uther was speech-making again. Arthur sighed, adjusting the fit of his ceremonial armor slightly, wishing that he could attend a quiet dinner with regular attire. He heard his name, and stepped into the space between the double rows of tables, ready to approach the royal table at the head of the room. Morgana stepped out opposite him, beautiful and regal and – now that danger was averted – giving him the same arch, superior look she'd perfected since they were teens.

"My lady," he said, giving her a little bow.

"My champion," she returned, her smile widening. She slipped her hand into his elbow and as they proceeded, said to him, "Has Father apologized yet for not believing you?"

"He'll never apologize," Arthur said shortly. And to change the subject, he added teasingly, "I hope you're not disappointed Valiant's not escorting you?"

"Turns out he wasn't champion material," she informed him. "Cheating with magic." She dug her knuckles into his ribs, but he barely felt it through the chainmail. "Are you going to tell me how you did the same?"

He gave her a brief glare. "I didn't cheat," he said.

"Oh, come on. You heard Valiant, you saw his face. He said to those things, I didn't summon you!"

Arthur lifted his head to search the room. Uther was at the high table, several feet away yet, and distracted. But to the side, on a hidden stair, Merlin leaned against the wall, only his face visible in the light of the room, watching the activity with an almost childish delight, looking as if his day of imprisonment was already forgotten.

Morgana followed his glance. "Merlin?" she asked him. "But I thought he spent the day locked in a cell?"

"He did," Arthur said, and frowned. Merlin been napping – sleeping like a baby when Arthur had arrived to free him from the cell and demonstrate his victory, the boy's smile and shrug sheepish but unsurprised. Had it been Merlin? But how had he managed it?

"That was some tournament final," Morgana sighed, and her voice took on its customary teasing note. "It's not every day a girl gets to save a prince," she added, referring to the sword she'd snatched from Uther's belt to toss to Arthur's hand.

He bristled. First Merlin, now Morgana. Did any credit for the win belong to him? "I wouldn't say that I needed your help," he said stiffly. "I've been disarmed in a match before, and still won. I would have thought of something."

She pulled her hand away. "You're too proud to admit you were saved by a girl," she accused.

"Because I wasn't," he returned. By a sorcerer, quite possibly, but it wasn't Merlin prodding him into admitting it and thanking him.

Her eyes narrowed – sometimes it was ridiculously easy to get her goat. But after all, what else were brothers for? "I wish Valiant _was_ escorting me!" she said.

He rolled his eyes. In that case, he'd be lying in Gaius' chambers, if he was lucky. "Me, too," he said, trying to keep a hold on his own temper, so similar to hers. And their father's. "Then I wouldn't have to listen to you."

"Fine!" she snapped, turning away.

Sisters. "Fine!" he returned. It was a feast, after all. Good food and plenty of wine, and this trial was finally over, thank the gods. Time for some peace and quiet.


	3. The Mark of Nimueh

**The More Things Change**

**III. The Mark of Nimueh**

Merlin accompanied Gaius out early that morning, a guard had reported to Uther that there was a report of a body in an alleyway. He yawned, stumbling along behind his mentor; it had been a bit hard to adjust to, that a physician's job – and even more so the apprentice's – was an all day and all night responsibility.

The body, secured from public curiosity by a second liveried guard, was a man, lying facedown in the alley. To Merlin's eye there was no sign of violence, it appeared as if the man, whoever he was, had simply spread his length to sleep, and never woke up. An illness, rather than an injury, then? Gaius knelt to begin his examination without a moment's hesitation.

Merlin hung back a bit, both to give him space to work and because he felt a faint and inexplicable revulsion. He worried that maybe he didn't have what it took, after all, to be any kind of a healer. "Aren't you scared?" he asked the old physician.

"Of what?"

Merlin tried to explain his apprehension. "You… might catch whatever it is?"

Gaius gave him a look. "I am the court physician, Merlin, this is part of my job." Chastened but not reassured, Merlin ventured closer. "Mostly there's nothing to be scared of," the physician added, taking the shoulder of the corpse to turn it over.

As the man flopped to his back, Merlin's heart jumped in his chest at the sight of his face – dead drowned white, the veins showing thick and blue, the eyes open but covered with a thick milky film. "You were saying?" he said breathlessly.

"People mustn't see this," Gaius decided swiftly. "They'll panic. Get a cart, and a blanket." Merlin was happy to obey.

Once they'd gotten back to the privacy of the physician's chamber, Merlin helped lay the body out on the long table used for such things, treatment and diagnosis, both. Gaius took a small circle of polished glass fastened to a small wand for a handle, to have a closer look at the strange symptoms. "I've never seen anything like this before," he murmured.

Merlin hovered by the bookshelf, wanting to be useful but finding it hard to keep himself too close to the body. "Some kind of plague?" he suggested.

"No, this could never come from nature," Gaius concluded.

Merlin caught his meaning immediately. "It's caused by magic?"

The old physician straightened, looked at him, and he knew enough of the old man's limited stern expressions to know that something worried him. "But who has this kind of power?" he said. Merlin shuddered without quite knowing why.

A quick knock sounded at the door, and Arthur ducked his head inside. "Gaius, my father wants you. Throne room."

Merlin covered the body again with the blanket, and followed the court physician and the prince, and stopped dead inside the double doors of the throne room. There was another body on the floor, another man, simply lying there, but the same ghastly white skin tone and blueing of the veins was visible. Gaius bent over the body immediately, but Merlin knew it was just for show – the old physician didn't have the answer, yet.

"What's happened?" Uther demanded, keeping his own distance on his throne at the far end of the room.

"I don't know," Gaius admitted. "Second case today." Merlin tried to drag his eyes away from the body, and couldn't seem to manage it; there was something terribly fascinating about it.

"And?"

"I have seen nothing like it," the old man said. "But it seems to strike and spread quickly."

"So, what is the cause?" Uther asked.

Gaius hesitated long enough for most people in the room to notice. "I think I should say the cause…" The old man corrected himself, "The most likely cause – is sorcery."

Uther stood from his throne. "And who is the sorcerer responsible?" he snarled. Merlin didn't raise his eyes from the floor; he felt sure the king was looking straight at him.

"Sire, it is impossible to say, at this point. The scientific process is a long one, and must not be rushed."

"Be sure," Uther's voice was cold, "that you make full use of your assistant during this time." Gaius bowed, and backed to the door, pushing Merlin along also. But before they were fully through the double doors, Merlin heard Uther say to his son, "This kind of magic undermines all we've done. If we cannot control this plague… we have to find the sorcerer, and quickly."

Arthur said, "Yes, Father," and Gaius pushed Merlin around the corner.

"He's right, you know," the old man said. "More than one death caused by magic could undermine his authority, make people doubt their ruler."

"I know," Merlin moaned. "But why does he say it like he thinks it's somehow all my fault?"

"Come," Gaius said. "We can do nothing more for these two unfortunates, but perhaps there will be some indication of what happened, closer to the place the first died."

Merlin followed as they hurried to the alley, but his attention was stolen by the sight of a third man, crumpled on the ground next to the support post of roof overhang, feebly reaching to him for help with a hand that was dead-fish white.

"Gaius!" Merlin exclaimed. "He's still alive!"

"We need to know the disease before we can cure him," Gaius said, but stopped.

"I can cure him," Merlin said, with more confidence than he felt.

Gaius gave his head a quick shake. "Healing one will not stop the spread," he reminded Merlin. "It may even strengthen Uther's suspicions of you – the only known sorcerer residing in the citadel. You know how the king thinks – he may decide that you've done this to gain credit for the healing you can perform."

"It doesn't matter," Merlin said. "If I can save his life…"

"All right, Merlin," Gaius said, motioning to a pair of guards passing. "You see what you can do for him, and I will continue in my investigation. Science will lead us to the source of the disease."

Again they used the cart and the blanket, again they carried a body to the physician's chambers – but this one was placed on the patient's bed. Then both of them set to work. Merlin was quickly getting to know his way around the old man's haphazard system, the stock of herbs and the organization of equipment. He set about a poultice suggested by the book of healing magic, and was almost done when he noticed the old physician swirling a chalky substance in a vial over a flame.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Examining the contents of that man's stomach." Gaius indicated the corpse.

Merlin checked that his patient – his patient! – was comfortable, and came for a closer look, eager as always for instruction. "Will that tell you who did it?"

"No, but maybe how it's spread…" Gaius moved the glass vial away from the flame and looked into Merlin's eyes. "One thing I do know – this is magic of the darkest kind."

Well. No wonder he'd felt so reluctant to get close. "Why would someone use magic like that?" he wondered, returning to his work.

"Magic, like any form of power or skill, can corrupt," Gaius stated. "People use it for their own ends."

"I understand that," Merlin said. "But this? Who would benefit from a disease spreading among the common people of the lower town?" Gaius grunted and didn't answer. Merlin returned to the book to run his fingers and his eyes over the spell necessary to activate the poultice's components. "I'm ready to try this," he said, and Gaius left the workbench to observe. The patient himself was asleep or unconscious, for which Merlin was glad. If it didn't work, he'd just as soon not raise the man's hopes fruitlessly.

"Here," the old physician said, "put it under the pillow, the material will provide a buffer and allow the vapor to permeate the air about the head."

That detail adjusted, Merlin spoke the spell, "_Thu fornimest adl fram guman_." The round knob of the poultice visible under the pillow glowed a deep orange-gold, and a whitish mist rose from the man's skin to dissolve in the air.

"Wonderful," Gaius pronounced.

"His veins are still blue," Merlin worried.

"You can leave him to recover on his own," Gaius said. "Once the contagion is removed from his body, the blood will purify itself. He should be much better within half a day."

Merlin blew out a breath of relief, and grinned up at his mentor. "That's that, then," he said. "A cure, for sure."

Gaius shook his head. "I know it's tempting to use your magic for a solution, Merlin, but you must remember how different you are. If you are ever in my position, with an apprentice of your own, you must be able to teach the science and herb-lore, as well as the magic, you cannot expect another healer or assistant to be able to perform the magic that you can. It is not much good saving one – we have to discover how this is spreading."

"But the king has Arthur searching for whoever caused it," Merlin said. "Arthur will –"

"A sorcerer this powerful will never be found by searching the town," Gaius said.

"So what can we do?"

"Just what we are doing, I'm afraid. By all means, continue to help those you can, and we will hope that science finds the answer before it kills us all."

…..*…..

Arthur found his wandering footsteps leading to Gaius' chambers. He hadn't seen much of Merlin the past few days. He'd been busy looking busy on his search for the elusive sorcerer responsible for the plague. Frustrating, was what it was – a sorcerer would look, he assumed, just the same as anybody else. And someone bent on this kind of harm would not leave evidence of it lying around to be discovered in a common-sense search made by the king's guards. He also knew it was necessary, a show of action that served to calm the people.

He paused at a window to look out on the courtyard. By moonlight, the sheet-covered bodies seemed to glow with a melancholy finality. Nineteen deaths in all, mostly those who had fallen ill during the night and had been found once beyond help. And Merlin's magic, though confined and controlled in a guarded infirmary, had been responsible for saving almost twice that. Without the druid and his infinite gift of generous magic, the death toll would be over fifty by now.

He felt useless, by comparison. Which was why he was seeking out the old physician and his apprentice, to see what else he might possibly do. Yesterday Uther had imposed a curfew and cordoned off the lower town to isolate the disease and protect the lower city – and the fifteenth death had been reported, a noblewoman. It was in the water, Gaius had concluded, showing them a sprig of lavender swimming in a little vial, completely bleached of color.

Extend the search to the villages tomorrow, Uther had ordered. Arthur pushed away from the window, continuing on to visit Gaius with more determination in his step. He couldn't search the whole kingdom. There must be something _here_, that he could do.

"Gaius?" he said questioningly, opening the door of the old man's chamber. Neither of them had been in the infirmary, though the door-guard had standing orders to fetch one or the other if any new cases were reported during the night.

The old physician was seated at his desk, open book before him, head in his head. He startled as if he'd been sleeping, and stood to greet the prince. "Arthur, you should be resting," he scolded lightly. It was the same as saying, _nice to see you_, for Gaius.

"Later," he said brusquely. "I came to see if there was anything I can do? Where's Merlin?"

"He's talking to Kilgarrah," Gaius said.

Arthur halted mid-stride. "What?" he said. "Gaius, please don't tell me he called the great dragon anywhere near the city – my father will –"

"No, he's here," Gaius answered, nodding his head toward the short stair that led to Merlin's back bedroom. "We went to the cisterns below the city, the water that supplies the city's wells."

"And?" Arthur demanded, well aware that he sounded like his father at times.

Gaius turned the book on his desk around so that Arthur could see the picture, an earth-red monster with a bulbous head and hulking limbs, only three inches tall in the illustration. "An afanc," he said.

"You saw it?" Arthur said. "What is it?"

"A beast born of clay and conjured up by the most powerful of sorcerers."

"Do you have any idea who?" Arthur said. "That's our best chance, then, to go after the sorcerer responsible, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily," Gaius replied cautiously. Arthur noticed that he held a tiny fragment of something in his hand, turning it over thoughtfully. "We are left with the option of continuing as we are –"

"Which isn't working," Arthur pointed out.

Gaius inclined his head in agreement. "Or we find a way to defeat the creature who was sent to foul our water supply."

"How do we do that?" Arthur said, bending to try to read the script next to the illustration of the beast.

"That is what Merlin is asking Kilgarrah," Gaius said wearily.

Arthur abandoned the book and took the stairs to the druid's bedroom at one leap, pausing at the half-open door. Merlin sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes shut, perfectly still but for the minute movements of breathing. The light from the candle next to the bed flickered over him – he looked like he could be asleep, but after only a moment, he spoke. "Kilgarrah sends his greetings." Merlin's voice was hoarse from exhaustion, his eyes so darkly circled they might have been bruised as he opened them to look at Arthur, and he staggered in straightening from his bed.

Arthur wished he could tell the younger man to return to the bed and sleep as long as his body needed to. But they couldn't, not yet. "What did he have to say?" he asked, retreating to the larger chamber as Merlin ducked through the door.

Merlin gazed down at the stairs, and instead of joining them, simply sat down on the top step. "Elements," he told them. "He told me to trust the elements at my command, and that I can't do it alone." His blue eyes rested on Arthur, and he gave him a half-smile.

Arthur nodded immediately, feeling the return of some energy at the prospect of a solution he could do something to help accomplish. "How do we kill it, then?" he said.

"The afanc," Gaius said, "is made of earth and water, two of the four base elements."

"What about the other two?" Arthur said. Merlin's eyes had a glassy look, as though he'd fallen asleep there with them open, or else he was deep in thought.

"Perhaps they will destroy it," Gaius reasoned. "You want fire. Wind and fire."

Merlin said then, "You are air in fire's heat…"

"That's the spell you want," Gaius nodded.

…..*…..

Merlin dragged himself into Gaius' chamber, fairly trembling with exhaustion. "It's done," he told the old physician's raised eyebrow. "Only it disintegrated after it – died. There won't be any carcass to show the king in the morning."

"No…" Gaius said. "But I have… another bit of proof, I think he'll accept. With Arthur's word."

Merlin snorted. "He's certainly going to demand an explanation when Arthur doesn't get out of bed in the morning. He and I have a bet going, who's going to sleep the longest." He stumbled across the floor. "What's that there?"

Gaius laid the shard he'd picked up from the cistern floor earlier that day, when they'd first glimpsed the monster, to be able to identify it. On it was a tiny blue mark, two V's laid point to point, with a dot in the diamond-shaped space where they intersected. "This is the mark of Nimueh. The High Priestess of the Old Religion."

Merlin stared at the fragment. His brain was too tired now to process the significance his mentor evidently laid on the evidence. "But why? Are they allowed to do dark magic?"

Gaius tented his fingers and laid the tips to his chin. "Of all the rulers of Albion, Uther Pendragon is notoriously resistant to the influence of magic, as you well know. This offends the priestesses, provokes them, you might say."

"Still," Merlin said stubbornly. "How can they attack innocent people like this just to make a point to Uther?"

Gaius made a thoughtful noise. "I rather wonder if this wasn't Nimueh acting on her own."

"She hates Uther that much?"

"It seems to me," the old physician said slowly, "that this venture might have had more than one goal. She attacks the capital of Uther Pendragon in a way that undermines his newfound authority without being readily traced back to her. And in so doing, she tests… you."

"Me?" Merlin said. "What have I done? I've never even met a priestess!"

"You've been living a dragon's life of solitude, Merlin. You cannot realize how your part in fulfilling the prophecy of Dinas Emrys has become known to those who move within the circles of magic. I find it logical to assume that the High Priestess would wish to test your power and your skill and humiliate the Pendragon at the same time."

"And?" Merlin said.

"Let us hope that this is the end of it," Gaius told him, grim in his concern.


	4. The Poisoned Chalice

**IV. The Poisoned Chalice**

Merlin was on his way to Arthur's chamber on the prince's summons. He was on his toes, not only with his own excitement over the fact that visiting nobility meant feasting, but also because it meant that the palace's servants were twice as busy as usual – twice as fast with their errands, and half as pleasant with delays. So Merlin was twice as careful not to get in anyone's way or knock anything over; he was used to plenty of teasing about his clumsiness, but he'd been raised in the slower rhythm and simplicity of a druid camp, and had spent the last five years running pretty much wild with a dragon.

Busy hallways were just not his thing.

No sooner had he avoided someone's manservant sweeping through with a studded red jacket that smelled strongly of cider, than he turned and knocked into a young woman with an armful of bed linens.

"Oh, sorry," he said, "let me help you with that." He grabbed a tasseled pillow that had dropped and looked at her to give her a friendly smile – and stopped cold.

She was a stranger, he knew that first. And she was beautiful. Brilliant blue eyes perfectly matched by the scarf folding her hair away from view, full red lips, and a dress in blue and red to match, that left her shoulders bare. But his third impression, made entirely on his magic and not his eyes, was one of power and hate and foreboding, there and gone so fast he wondered if he could have been mistaken.

"Thank you," she said shyly, giving him a smile both innocent and seductive. "I'm Cara."

"Merlin," he returned the introduction automatically.

Recognition registered in the blue depths of her eyes. "Merlin Emrys," she said. "You're Arthur's sorcerer."

"I guess you could say that," he said, smiling wryly. And wouldn't Arthur laugh to hear their relationship explained like that.

"That must be such an honor," she said, so sincerely he was sure she was mocking him.

"Oh, yeah, it is," he said agreeably, allowing the joke on himself. "You know, _some_one's got to keep the place running."

She didn't acknowledge his sarcasm, though he was sure she had understood him. She said, very nice and very normal, "It was nice meeting you." Shifting her load of linens to better balance the pillow on the top, she moved past him. He watched her go, watched the sway of her walk, and wondered if he had missed something.

Merlin didn't expect to see the girl again, but she was in the great hall for the feast – one of Bayard's attendants, he assumed, as he was acting as one of Uther's, the tunic over his blue shirt the red livery of Camelot embroidered with the golden dragon. She hadn't seemed to see him yet, and he wondered if he'd get a chance to say hello again in passing.

As Bayard and Uther bent ceremoniously in turn over the momentous treaty they were signing, Merlin watched Cara – first out of a purely masculine enjoyment of a pretty girl, and then with growing interest at the concentration she was putting into the moment, staring at the two rulers pledging their mutual support and protection. Her expression, it was as if he could see two of them superimposed over one another, like two pages held up to the light, blended together. One was a sweet and slightly vacant smile. The other was the look of a dangerous predator, waiting the best moment to strike – or expecting someone else to strike?

"And as a sign of our intended good-will and fellowship," Bayard continued, waving a hand officiously. Another attendant stepped forward with a hinged wooden box, opening it to show two engraved silver chalices resting on a dark-blue velvet lining. "A gift – Uther Pendragon, and Arthur."

"This calls for a toast," Uther declared. One of Camelot's own servants moved forward with a pitcher of wine to fill the goblets – a glint of vindictive triumph shone naked on the girl Cara's face; her eyes were fastened to the goblet box almost greedily.

What? Merlin moved without thinking, waylaying the servant with the pitcher with as much grace as he could summon and moving to perform the pouring-out duties himself. Uther's lip twisted with annoyance, and Arthur's with amusement, but neither said anything in front of their visitors. As Bayard turned to accept his own filled goblet, Merlin's hands trembled slightly, filling the chalice held by the king, keeping his head lowered so Uther would not be offended by the stray gleam of unauthorized golden magic. Nothing. So there was no plot against Uther's life. Merlin turned to Arthur, praying he was wrong.

As he poured, he concentrated, and Bayard spouted a long and flowery toast. Arthur met Merlin's eyes to give his own an exaggerated roll, and Merlin, in grinning back, almost missed it.

The slightest of taints. A stray wisp of black. A smell of old blood – blood magic. Had been used on Arthur's goblet.

Merlin was frozen, his mind felt sluggish as the whisper of a thought brushed against his consciousness, _Hyran scolde, Merlin_. A spell of obedience – unspoken, so lacking somewhat in strength, but – what the hell? Who? And why would someone – he struggled briefly to regain control of his mind and body.

Arthur lifted his goblet in the toast, and brought it to his lips.

Merlin lurched forward, gasping with the broken spell, "Stop! Don't drink it! It's poisoned!" How or why or who, he could not say, but that it was poisoned, he knew for sure, and snatched it away from his friend. He sent a confused glance around for Cara and did not see her. Gaius moved forward, scowling, as Uther clamped his hand on Merlin's shoulder.

"You are making a very bad habit of interrupting, boy," the king growled, his glare icy. "You accuse me of poisoning my own wine?"

"What? No, of course not," Merlin said. "It's Arthur's chalice – the gift. It's been poisoned."

Both Pendragons turned to look at their visitor. "This is preposterous," Bayard proclaimed. "I have come to sign a treaty of peace – why would I want to harm either of you?"

"Perhaps someone else had access to the vessel?" Gaius proposed reasonably.

"No," Bayard denied emphatically. "It has not been out of my possession."

Merlin looked around for the girl who was not really a girl, but she wasn't there. If she'd left the room, she'd have left the citadel – if it was her magic, it was strong magic and she'd have no trouble escaping. Whether she was allied with Bayard or not…

Bayard stepped forward, reaching for the goblet. "I'll prove it," he suggested to Uther. "It's perfectly fine, I assure you."

Merlin stepped back, believing instinctively that Bayard was innocent as well. No one should drink of it – he thought wildly of dumping the contents of wine out on the ground, but realized that wouldn't satisfy Uther.

"No, if it does prove to be poison…" Uther turned and pinned Merlin with a gaze. "He'll drink it." Merlin stared back, the king's expression so complex it frightened him more than a little.

Arthur stepped forward, reaching for his father's shoulder. "But if it is poisoned, he'll die," he protested.

"Of course not," Uther said dismissively. "He's a powerful sorcerer, isn't he? But even sorcerers must prove their claims."

Merlin remembered what Gaius had said about poisons when Ewan had been bitten by the snake from Valiant's shield – tricky at best, even for magic.

Bayard said, "And what if there is no effect? The insult must be answered for."

Uther shrugged, "If he lives, you have my apologies, and you may do with him as you will."

And that was a yawning abyss of black possibilities. Bayard would theoretically be free to kill him or carry him off to Mercia in slavery – except that as a sorcerer, he had the ability to fight back, to prevent it – to cause war between Camelot and Mercia, to be banished from Camelot forever… He vaguely heard Gaius pleading with the king to reconsider, and Uther snap at Gaius to remind him of his responsibility for his apprentice's actions.

As he lifted the cup to drink, Arthur shouted and lunged for him, Merlin stepping smoothly out of reach.

It tasted like wine, twisting pleasantly in the back corners of his mouth, a faint aftertaste not unlike lavender. Or dogwood, maybe? That was an odd flavor for wine. All eyes were on him, expectantly awaiting the verdict.

"It's fine," he said, with a little surprise. Ye gods, he belonged to Bayard now. He wavered on his feet, feeling his throat beginning to close in fear. Perhaps he could ransom himself, there was that treasure after all, and… he blinked to try to clear his vision. He would not cry in front of everyone, and besides, what was there to cry about? But blinking didn't help.

The taste that filled his mouth was metallic-bitter, foul and dark. He lifted his hand to his throat, his collar was too tight, his fingers too clumsy – Arthur's eyes were horrified – and his legs collapsed under him.

…..*…..

It was almost as bad as when he'd moved the young druid boy's hand in the cave below Dinas Emrys and found his face covered in blood. Merlin on the ground and unconscious simply did not happen. It meant that something had gone horribly wrong, and it froze Arthur's blood uselessly in his veins as the old physician knelt over his apprentice.

"Merlin, can you hear me?" Gaius called. The rest of the room was silence, even the two rulers seemed faintly ashamed. Good, Arthur thought vindictively, and then he was able to kneel also. "We have to get him back to my chambers," the old physician told Arthur, and as he reached to pull Merlin's body over his shoulder, out of the corner of his eye he saw Gaius scoop up the chalice.

As he carried his friend down halls and up stairs, Arthur thought he'd never known Gaius to move so fast, not even when he was a child and the old man twenty years younger. The red tunic he'd given Merlin to wear earlier flapped at the side of Arthur's face, and the echo of the younger man's pleased surprise flitted through his mind, _I'm gonna be at the banquet?_ His naïve simplicity, as he gestured at the red shirt and plain brown trousers and jacket that were his habitual garb, _Won't this do?_

Arthur wished now that he hadn't been so eager for Merlin's presence at the banquet. If it had been _him_ to drink from the poisoned cup, Merlin would probably have had no trouble healing him.

"Lay him on the bed, quickly," Gaius directed him, and Arthur tried to follow the order as gently as possible. He noticed that Merlin's feet hung off the edge of the short bed – he really had gotten taller in the last five years. "He's struggling to breathe," Gaius said shortly.

Arthur watched him a moment, the wrinkle between his brows, the hollow in his throat as his body fought to draw air in. "Is he going to be all right?" he asked softly. "My father said –"

"His magic won't do much good healing without conscious direction!" Gaius snapped. "It might be able to keep him alive, but only just… He's burning up."

Unbidden, Arthur turned for the water bucket and a clean cloth, laying it out wet and cool across the top of Merlin's head. "You can cure him, can't you, Gaius?"

Gaius was back at the goblet, examining it. "I won't know until I can identify the poison – ah, there's something stuck on the inside."

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

Gaius turned to his shelf of books, quickly scanning the identifying marks on the bindings, and pulling one out. He leafed through it quickly, Arthur craning to see. He couldn't tell if there was any organization to the pages, but after a lifetime of studying and practicing medicine, he was sure that the old man was probably familiar with every page.

"Ah, the petal comes from the morteaus flower."

Arthur began to pace as the old man described the effects of the poison – _slow and painful_ stuck in his mind. Merlin's magic might prolong the result, delay the inevitable, but would also draw out the sensations of pain. The leaf was the antidote, found on the roots of the tree, which were evidently accessible in a cave – _damn, why is it always a cave?_ he thought, and almost kicked the leg of the patient bed, remembering just in time who was resting there.

"Sounds like fun," he declared at last, and strode from the room ignoring the physician's protests of the danger.

He found his father waiting for him in the corridor outside his bedchamber. "He can't heal himself," Arthur said, his tone bordering on disrespectful, but Uther didn't comment. "Gaius says there's an antidote possible. I'm going to ride out immediately."

"What is the point," Uther said, in a tone so reasonable that Arthur was immediately suspicious, "of letting him test the poison, if you're going to rush out and get yourself killed?"

"You think I'll fail?" Arthur demanded.

"It's too risky," Uther said.

"Let me take some men," Arthur proposed. He'd be protected, and Merlin would be cured. "We'll find the antidote." Uther shook his head decisively, and Arthur near-exploded, "Why not?"

"One day I will be dead and Camelot will need a king. Don't jeopardize the kingdom's future."

Arthur stared at his father, who'd taken plenty of risks as a warlord, and who'd pushed him for years to be sure that his skills were equal to these sorts of tasks. His position as prince required that he lead patrols and journeys and quests, protect the people – and now it was a reason to stay safely at home?

No. It was because Uther did not want this particular person protected or saved. His father, Arthur saw with sickening clarity, had been presented with a chance to ensure the death of a powerful sorcerer, the last of the dragonlords, in a way that could not be blamed on him. Any repercussions the dragons chose to visit would fall on Bayard and Mercia.

"We owe it to him," Arthur said levelly. "He saved how many of our citizens when the water was poisoned?"

A muscle in the king's jaw tightened. "It could be argued," he said, in a soft and dangerous voice, "that if the priestess responsible for the contagion was testing your sorcerer, then he was partly to blame. You will not risk yourself for him, is that clear?"

Arthur opened his mouth to say, _You can't stop me from going_, and didn't. His father could, and would. He could not overpower all the guards Uther was capable of assigning to him, nor could he break free from the cells as Merlin undoubtedly could, were the king to incarcerate him. He remembered a dark night five years and more ago, after a feast, returning to his room and preparing to set out on his own…

"Well, you can't expect me to stand around and watch him die," Arthur snapped. "I'll be in my chamber – and I don't wish to be disturbed."

"This boy won't be the last to die for you, when you are king," Uther said, and if there was a faint hint of sympathy, Arthur ignored it. "Best get used to that idea now."

Alone in his room, Arthur unbuckled his sword-belt and slammed it down on the table, beginning to strip from his banquet finery for a plain and sturdy and above all anonymous set of clothing. Behind him the door opened, and Arthur spun, ready to snarl at whoever dared to intrude – and Morgana quirked her eyebrow as she shut the door behind her.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "I was ready for war to break out right there in our banqueting hall."

"What happened after I left?" he said. His trousers were fine, dark and of good material, but not of ostentatiously high quality – he wouldn't take the time to change.

"The guards put Bayard under house arrest," she said. "Father's going to talk to Gaius in the morning about the poison. I think the servants ought to be questioned – Bayard insists that the goblet could not have been tampered with, but you and I both know that someone bent on making this kind of trouble could have accomplished it." She watched him select a plain dark surcoat, shrug it on over his white shirt. "Is Merlin… You're going after the antidote, aren't you."

"He's my friend," Arthur said. "Aside from being a powerful sorcerer and a dragonlord and damn important to the future of this land. Sometimes you must do what you know is right…"

She smiled. "And damn the consequences," she agreed.

"If I don't return…" He paused. "You will be the one to rule Camelot." Her eyes widened with the realization.

"Just make sure that you return, then," she said, sobered. She picked up his sword-belt from the table and handed it to him. "Father has a guard at the end of the hall – I'll distract him for five minutes."

Arthur covered his rough travel-ready clothing and his rather recognizably light hair with a long cloak, and again slipped from his room in the dark. Avoiding the guards, he made his way to the stable and saddled and provisioned his mount. There was a point of worry, when he galloped through the paved courtyard and the guards at the gate crossed their halberds to stop the unknown horsemen, but he spurred his steed and they leaped out of his way.

The rest of his journey was characterized by intermittent worry and hurry. The periods of rest and refreshment for himself and his horse were not restful, and the travel not swift enough to suit him. But finally he stood at the crest of a ridge at the foothills of the Isgaard mountains, looking down into Balor forest. Somewhere there was a cave where the roots of the mortaeus grew its poisonous flower next the antidote leaf in the dark.

He saw the cave first, as the sun was setting on the day; he dismounted and secured his horse for the comfort of a few hours' wait. But as he approached, he heard a strange sound. Here, in the middle of nowhere, where – Gaius had warned him – few made it out alive, he could hear a woman crying.

A few more steps, and he could see her. Her dark red dress in tatters, bruises dark purple on her bare arms, she huddled on a fallen tree trunk completely alone. No mount, no escort, no baggage, not even a fire for warmth or food. He slowed his step only slightly, wary but still distracted by his need to complete his quest and return.

"Hello?" he tried. "Are you all right?" She shot him a terrified look and flinched away. He held out his hands soothingly, "It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you." She was beautiful, he realized, with eyes so blue and lips so red and hair so dark… He shook his head slightly – knightly courtesy had been drilled into him from a very early age, and he knew his duty to her, but… "Who did that to you?" he pointed to the bruises.

"My master," she said. "I ran away from him, but then I got lost." She seemed to overcome her fear of him almost immediately. "Please don't leave me."

"I won't," he reassured her involuntarily. "I'm not going to."

"You can take me away from here?" she asked, rising gracefully to her feet and coming to stand before him – between him and the cave, he noticed.

"Not yet," he said gently. She didn't require immediate medical attention, and seemed to be in a stable mental state – she didn't need him as much at the moment as Merlin did. Four or five days… slow and painful. "There's something I have to do first."

She followed him to the mouth of the cave. "Why have you come here?" she said.

"I'm looking for something," he answered, "that can only be found here."

"What is it?" He glanced at her, surprised at the sharp curiosity from someone who ran into a wilderness ragged and empty-handed and only moments earlier was sobbing over her bruises. She added, "I know this place, I could help you."

Perhaps she only sought to be useful, to repay him for whatever aid he might offer, to make sure she was not left behind on her own. "It's a type of flower that only grows inside the cave," he said. "It's very rare."

"The morteaus flower?" Her smile was more satisfied than innocent, but her next words distracted him again from the start of suspicion. "I know where they are. I'll show you." She turned to retrieve a cape of her own, a luscious light-blue satiny garment. _Perhaps_, he said to himself, _she stole it from her masters_.

Arthur found a sturdy stick, wrapped a rag around the top and saturated it with cooking oil from a little bottle in his pack, lighting it for a torch, and when she was ready, he followed her into the cave. They were out of the reach of the waning daylight when he heard Merlin's voice in the back of his mind, _Arthur, Arthur – it's a trap. It's a trap_. But his time was short, and he didn't see that he had another choice.

She seemed very sure of herself, never pausing to check her surroundings, but led him unhesitating, then stepped to the side as the passage opened into a crevice. It was about ten feet to the cliff face opposite, the sheer sides stretching into blackness to both sides, above and below.

"There they are," the girl said, pointing to a tiny white-flowered plant perched in a crack on the opposite wall.

"Keep back from the edge," he told her without thinking, stretching his torch over the blackness to try to see how far down a fall might take a person. The floor of the passage continued maybe a yard or so over the drop, before a gap must be crossed to the other side, wrinkled with hand- and foot-holds but still almost perfectly vertical. He handed her the torch. "Don't worry, we'll be out of here soon," he promised her, beginning to edge out over the drop.

She mumbled a response, but he didn't catch what she said over the grinding of loose rock. Chunks shifted loose from the overhang at his weight, bounding down into darkness. He slid his feet forward, searching for the best place to land on the other side in case – Her voice rose, and he recognized the cadence, the unfamiliar words.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. A spell to help him somehow – but if she had magic, why was she running from an abusive master?

He threw a startled glance over his shoulder, caught a maniacally vindictive look twisting her beautiful face. The whole ledge dropped, and he launched himself blindly at the opposite cliff face – _oh hells_ – The torch fluttered downward, his fingers scraped, his boots scrambled – and he clung unmoving to the sheer side as the rock that had supported his weight crashed ponderously into the depths of the crevice.

She gave a bitter chuckle. "You know, I expected so much more. Pendragon and Emrys… I expected a challenge, at least, this time. I suppose you're not much good separated, are you?"

"Who are you?" Arthur growled, trying to find a better support for his weight, a wider hold.

"The last face you'll ever see," she said mockingly.

He reached for a higher shelf of rock. "If I'm to die here, at least tell me who you are," he demanded. His only answer was the steady fading of the torchlight and her footsteps as she took the passage out.

His palms were sweating, his heart pounding. In a moment the darkness was absolute. Even if he could somehow turn his body around, he had no idea where the narrow ledge or the passage was, on the other side. Or any other way out. He could see nothing; he could only cling until his strength drained and he fell.

_Arthur, it's too dark_. Merlin's voice again, sounding in his mind. _Too dark_.

"Damn right it's dark, idiot!" he snarled, then felt bad. Merlin was lying unconscious in Gaius' chamber, dying slowly and painfully, not standing just behind him making useless observations. "Come on, then, what are you waiting for?" he said, not sure whether he was asking the absent sorcerer for an impossible aid, or himself for the reason he was prolonging the inevitable.

Then he blinked, and the cliff face in front of him glowed with a faintly reflected blue light. He turned his neck stiffly to see the orb of Merlin's magelight rise effortlessly in the air just out of reach, illuminating the cracks and holds he needed to be able to climb. It hovered, clearly waiting for him.

Just beyond it was a small tenacious plant, green leaves and white flowers, impossible flourishing in the cleft formed by a barely-visible root.

And instead of scaling the cliff straight up, he began to maneuver his climb sideways.

_Leave them, Arthur. Go and save yourself._

"Shut up," he huffed, stretching. No, not quite. He gripped the sharp edge of a miniscule outcropping and raised his weight on his toes. Carefully, carefully… His fingers found the plant and gently pulled, removing three leaves and a cluster of petals. Balancing precariously, he reached down to tuck the plant into his belt pouch. "All right, now," he told Merlin's light.

It rose still further, throwing darkly shadowed slashes where Arthur needed to jam his fingers to pull himself up, pause and find a place for the toe of his boot to push his weight still higher. It would be a nightmare climb in daylight.

He squinted up, exhausted, and saw something beyond the glimmering blue globe. A deep blue sprinkled with tiny white specks, a closer tossing shadow sometimes obscuring it – the night sky, and tree boughs blowing in the night breeze. He felt the rough surface of a natural chimney against his back and shoulders, and relaxed against it a little, already smelling grass and earth, mere feet above him. Merlin's magelight shot up into the open air.

And Arthur followed it.

It took him another full day to return to Camelot, but his homecoming was not the relief he thought it would be. He was accosted at the gate by two guards and taken – forcibly – straight to one of the cells. They ignored his request to be allowed to go to the physician first, and he hesitated to trust either of them with the precious wilting plant in his belt pouch. He was so busy pacing and cursing that he failed to notice his father's approach until he spoke.

"You disobeyed me."

Arthur clenched his teeth momentarily, trying not to let the anger he felt into his tone. "There was a life at stake," he reminded his father. "And there's more. There was a woman at the mountain, who knew why I was there – a sorceress. I don't believe it was Bayard who tried to poison me."

"A woman," Uther said slowly, speaking as if to himself. "Gaius told me, there was evidence that the afanc was sent by the High Priestess Nimueh."

"The High Priestess?" Arthur said. "This woman was young, and beautiful, with-"

"She is powerful, according to Gaius. She enchants the eye that beholds her, what you saw may not have been her true image."

"I don't understand," Arthur said. "She wanted to poison me because we destroyed the afanc? Do the priestesses seek a war with Camelot?"

"I have no desire to understand why they do what they do," Uther growled. "I only know that Camelot and the order of the Old Religion had no quarrel until that boy arrived."

"Merlin? That's ridiculous, they can have no grudge against him," Arthur said. He reached into his belt pouch and drew out the flower, holding it between the bars of the cell. "We can save his life now – I was successful. He didn't have to drink from that goblet in my place, Father, but he did it, he saved my life. Don't let Merlin die because of something I did." Uther took the flower from him and held it thoughtfully. "Put me in the stocks for a week, a month even, I don't care. Just make sure it gets to him?" Arthur swallowed hard. "I'm begging you."

"The dragonlord dies poisoned by a high priestess," Uther said softly. He didn't meet Arthur's eyes. "And two of our enemies are turned on each other if we simply do nothing."

Two? Comprehension came slowly, awfully. Kilgarrah and Nimueh. With Merlin's death, the great dragon would not rest until the one responsible was punished – and the High Priestess would plot against Camelot no longer. Of course Uther would think Merlin's life sacrificed appropriately for such an outcome. Arthur lunged for the delicate cluster of leaves in his father's hand as Uther squeezed his fist tight. "No!" Arthur shouted.

"You have to learn," Uther said levelly. "There's a right and wrong way of doing things. I'll see you let out in a week." He dropped the crushed morteaus and turned on his heel.

In seven days Merlin would be dead. Arthur stretched himself out on the floor of the cell, reaching his arm between the bars as far as it would go, to gently retrieve the crumpled little plant.

No sooner did his fingertips close on the bit of greenery than familiar footsteps sounded in the corridor and Morgana's skirt swished into view. "Well, well," she said in her teasing lilt, "bragging just doesn't sound as impressive from that position."

"Have you distracted the guards again?" he asked, scrambling up.

"Something like that." She sounded very pleased with herself. "Now, I understand that you might have something you would like me to deliver very much."

"Please, Morgana," he said, holding out the morteaus.

"Because you asked so nicely," she told him with a smile and a toss of her head.

…..*…..

Merlin felt awful. His skin was slick and his mouth tasted like sour wine and dark magic and his throat was so dry it seemed to stick shut when he tried to swallow. His eyelids felt swollen, but he managed to drag them open. It took a moment to recognize that he was in Gaius' chamber, and another to focus on the two faces waiting beside him.

"Merlin! You're alive!" Gaius exclaimed.

"What happened?" Merlin rasped, pushing himself up on his elbows to accept the cup of water that Morgana held out. And what was the princess doing at his bedside? "The last thing I remember is drinking the wine."

"Is there anything else you remember?" Gaius said.

"There was a woman," Merlin said, sinking back. "A girl. Beautiful and – angry."

"Hm," Morgana said, her lips twisting wryly. "She seems to have made quite an impression." She looked up at Gaius, still amused. "I suppose my father will have an apology to make to Bayard – and that is something I simply cannot miss."

"My lady," Gaius said. "There is no need, you know, to mention the spell used to increase the effectiveness of the antidote."

"Of course not, Gaius," Morgana said, for once serious. "You know I'd be in just as much trouble for remaining while you did it." She leaned over to give Merlin the lightest of kisses on his cheek. "I am glad you're going to get better."

Merlin was so affected he promptly fell asleep.

…..*…..

The quickest week Arthur had ever spent was the suspended sleep Merlin had tucked him into when they were just boys. The week in the cell, no further visits allowed except for a change of the guards and a shy maid bringing his meals, was going to be the longest, he thought. Until he woke the next day to the key turning in the lock.

The sorcerer was recovering on his own, he was told. Bayard of Mercia had been cleared of involvement, and the presence of the crown prince was required for the official farewell.

Upon his release of these 'official duties', he went immediately to Gaius' chamber, and entered without knocking. The old physician looked up and understood his errand, jerking his head toward the table against the wall. Merlin's black hair was a tousled mess over the shapeless huddle of gray blanket, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as he rounded the table to drop down onto the bench opposite him.

"Still alive, then?" he asked breezily.

Merlin was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes, his fingers stirred his spoon in his bowl of broth disinterestedly, but he supposed almost three days fighting a deadly poison would leave its mark on even the most powerful of sorcerers.

"Yeah, just about," he said, and though the smile was wan at best, the blue of his eyes sparkled. "I've already thanked Morgana, and Gaius – "

"Eat your dinner, Merlin," the old man called.

Because his back was to his mentor, Merlin rolled his eyes and widened his grin to Arthur. "I understand I owe you thanks as well."

"No more than I do you," Arthur said.

"What do you mean?" Merlin was genuinely confused; Gaius turned and drew closer to listen.

"Your magelight," Arthur said. "I was left alone in the cave, and it was too dark to see anything, and then your blue magelight was there, showing me the way out."

Merlin glanced up at Gaius, who nodded. "While you were unconscious," the old physician said. "You held your magelight in your hand – there must have been a resonant light that appeared with Arthur."

Merlin grimaced uncomfortably. "How do I do magic without even knowing it?" he complained.

"Because Arthur needed it," Gaius said.

Merlin darted him a glance, which he avoided. That made him feel strange – thankful but resentful. He was part of a pair – with Merlin, he didn't mind at all – but without his consent or input. It wasn't Merlin or his magic he resisted but the idea that he had no choice in the matter. _You're not much good separated_, Nimueh – if it was her – had said. But supposing they never were truly separate?

He shook off those thoughts and said, "I don't understand why she went to the trouble of framing Bayard. If she entered Camelot as one of the Mercian attendants, she could've just killed me at any time."

"The priestesses are notorious for meddling in politics," Gaius told them. "Nimueh seems to have taken a special interest in Camelot lately." Merlin ducked his head and was suddenly very interested in his broth. "It must suit her purpose somehow to set Uther at odds with Mercia. And I don't suppose it truly mattered whether you drank from that goblet, Arthur, or whether Merlin stepped in to take the poison in your place. One of you was going to end up lying here on death's doorstep while the other journeyed to Balor forest. Either way, you were separated, and she faced one of you."

Arthur imagined Merlin tumbling from his horse's back to find the High Priestess waiting for him outside the cave, and couldn't suppress a shudder.

"It seems," Gaius concluded, "that someone else knows you're both destined for great things."


	5. A Remedy to Cure All Ills

**(A/N: I'm skipping ep. 1.5 here for reasons that will become clear in part 2…)**

**VI. A Remedy to Cure All Ills**

Merlin waited impatiently at the foot of the stairs, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. He hadn't been allowed into Morgana's bedchamber, but whether that was because he was a sorcerer, a young man, or not yet a qualified physician, had not been clarified, and he hadn't asked.

The moment Gaius appeared at the head of the stair, he demanded, "Is she any better?" Two days now Morgana hadn't moved from her bed, by his mentor's report, hadn't so much as opened her eyes.

Gaius shook his head as he descended the stairs slowly, wearily. "She's all but dead, Merlin."

"No," Merlin said, stubbornly refusing the cold feeling that clutched at his heart. "You have to cure her."

"Don't you start," Gaius nearly snapped at him, but he took no offense. Two days was a long time for the princess to lie ill with no clear diagnosis or response to the treatments the old physician had tried.

"Then I have to cure her!" Merlin said explosively, but knowing well enough to keep his voice down. "Tell the king to let me help!"

Gaius gave him a genuine scowl. "This is not a magical illness," he said stiffly, "It must be cured by conventional means. We'll keep trying. See if you can find me some fresh rosemary." He pushed past Merlin.

Merlin persisted, "There's got to be something more that _I _can do!"

"And yarrow!" Gaius added impatiently over his shoulder.

…..*…..

Arthur sat before the fire in his bedchamber, absently playing with the fur of the skin tossed over his armchair for comfort. The face of the visiting physician was one that wouldn't be soon forgotten, but it was his claim that Arthur considered now – a remedy to cure all ills. Arthur knew little of Gaius' trade, but from the way Merlin talked, it was a complication that took years, if not a lifetime, to accumulate the knowledge of a truly skilled physician. And even then, Gaius himself was stumped by Morgana's unresponsiveness, brought on overnight and almost completely lacking in definite symptom. This Edwin Muirden, as he had named himself, looked young, in spite of his damaged countenance, how could he possibly be able to cure _every_ ill…

He was finding it hard to hang onto his line of thought. Merlin was pacing behind his chair, mumbling to himself. "It's going to be all right… It is, I know it is… She's going to be absolutely –"

Arthur gave up trying to think about the mysterious visitor who'd come to Camelot specifically for his sister. "Merlin!"

The younger man's footsteps didn't pause. "What?"

He pressed his forehead into his hand, speaking between his teeth. "You're making me anxious."

"But I'm not worried." Merlin's words might have been intended to soothe Arthur's anxiety, but his tone only heightened it.

"Then stop pacing!" Arthur demanded. Behind him, he heard the squeak of the bench on the stone floor. A moment of blessed silence. Then Merlin's fingers drumming on the table. Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet to cross to the door, hesitate, then return… then make the trip again, in time with Merlin's tapping fingers.

Merlin began to mumble again. "We've got to get the king to listen… I'm sure I could… If I could see her once, I think…" Arthur turned at the door once again to see that Merlin had gone completely still, gazing into the empty air.

"Merlin," he said tiredly. "Please tell me you're not thinking about how you could manage to sneak into my sister's room." Merlin met his gaze, startled and sheepish. Arthur leaned both fists on the table and brought his face closer. "You know, at any other time I would run you through myself, for that." Merlin gave him a quick grin, and Arthur added, "You know my father isn't going to let her die. Sooner or later…"

"Why must it be later?" Merlin grumbled. "If he leaves it too late, even my magic…" Arthur gave him a sidelong glance. "What?"

"That's exactly what he's afraid of, you know." At Merlin's blank look, Arthur sighed and sat down at the table opposite his friend. "If _I've_ seen the way you look at her, you can be sure that my father has noticed."

Merlin's ears were bright red, even in the dim light of the fireplace. "Everyone knows she's beautiful," he mumbled. "Hells, Arthur, I know that nothing will ever _happen_…" He cocked his head, and the color drained from his face. "Is that why he won't let me try? He thinks I'm going to – what? Heal her and give her a love potion at the same time or something?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It's not like that," he said. "You know how he is with magic. And she's his only daughter."

"But _you_ –"

Arthur repeated. "_She's_ his only daughter. It's different."

Merlin let his head drop forward to rest on his crossed forearms on the table. "Is that why Gaius insists it isn't a magical illness," he said, his voice muffled in his sleeve. "I thought maybe this was going to be my chance to repay her."

"For what?" Arthur said.

"For – you know. Helping you and Gaius save _my_ life. But what if Gaius can't do anything, and it is too late for me to help?"

Now Arthur was drumming his fingers. A remedy. All ills. "I'll talk to him," he decided.

He didn't have to look long for his father; Uther was never far from Morgana's room, anymore.

As he entered, he heard Gaius saying, "I cannot preserve her life for much longer. She has hours, maybe less."

Arthur crossed to join the two older men at the bedside of his sister. Her skin was white as the sheet and pillow cover, her hair a silky black fan across it. Morgana was always in motion, always vehement and lively – it was sobering to see her so still.

"We cannot let her die," he said to his father's shoulder.

"Arthur, please," Uther said. His voice was rough with emotion, but impatient. "No. He doesn't come near her."

"There's a man," Arthur said. Ye gods, _anything_ but letting her die. And who knew but this Muirden could cure her? Or at least provide another opinion about using magic, after all? "He came to the castle yesterday, he claims he can cure her."

"That's ridiculous, he doesn't know what's wrong with her," Uther said.

"Well, if you refuse to use the resources we already possess," Arthur snapped, "at least we can hear him out. For Morgana's sake? Please, Father."

Uther reached to touch the back of Morgana's hand, limp on the coverlet, and let out a long breath. "Send for him," he said.

…..*…..

Merlin used the servant's entrance. It was late at night, and no one was about anymore, except the four men in the throne room. He waited in the doorway to listen, where Uther would not notice him. No one had said much about the mysterious visitor; no one knew much. Arthur was tense with controlling his hope, Gaius short-tempered in the face of his failure. Merlin felt somewhere in the middle – hovering between an almost illogical hope that a miracle could be worked, but still rational enough to admit some skepticism, both at the man's certainty, and his timing.

He watched the four men interact, not paying close attention to the words, and was interested in the currents running through the room. The stranger, Edwin Muirden, was obsequious to the point of offense, he thought, to Uther, as though he mocked them with the part he was playing. And when he spoke to Gaius, he said, _You_ _are a legend_. He said, _I am delighted to meet you_. And then proceeded to question the man who had been court physician for decades - who had tended and treated and healed through all the warlord's battles – with a delicate but insidious doubt.

And before he knew it, Uther was offering the stranger not only guest quarters, but access to the unconscious princess.

At that, Arthur glanced back to meet his eyes, and Merlin inched forward cautiously, recognizing the set look on the prince's face, the wary blankness that he wore when sparring on the training field. It put Merlin on his guard, also.

Gaius looked at him much the same way and said, "Consider my apprentice fully at your disposal." Merlin glanced at the king, who made an impatient gesture of agreement.

"I will start work immediately," Edwin declared and made a dramatically flourishing bow. Merlin wordlessly followed him out.

It took about an hour, carrying the stranger's belongings from his room at the Rising Sun to the guest chamber that was to be Edwin's. After the first trip, the older man stayed in that room, unpacking and rearranging his equipment while Merlin trotted down to the lower town and staggered back up. But finally he'd set down the last of the boxes, and turned to face the man and the room.

Arthur was one to trust quickly, and he was wary of Edwin. Gaius was one to welcome and share knowledge with other healers, and he resisted Edwin. Merlin… wasn't sure what to think. He stepped closer to the cluttered desktop, trying to figure out the equipment unobtrusively; it didn't resemble the apparatus that Gaius used and Merlin was becoming familiar with.

The first thing Edwin said to him was, "Yes, it was originally designed for alchemy."

Alchemy. So the other physician had studied that branch of science before turning to medicine. Merlin found that odd – alchemy had always seemed to him a highly _greedy_ pursuit. Directly opposed to healing, which was hard work and little thanks for the good of someone else. "Making gold," he murmured, so his thoughts wouldn't show.

Edwin's eyes were sharp, measuring him up. "You have an interest in science?"

Merlin shrugged, repeating something he'd heard Gaius say many times, "Science is knowledge."

"It has the answers to everything."

Once again, Merlin found himself ready to contradict. A remedy for all ills? The answers to everything? Even the druid elders always said, _education serves to show the greatest of us how much we have yet to learn._ He said, "It can't explain love."

Edwin smirked. "So you are in love."

Merlin groaned to himself. Yes, she was beautiful, but that didn't mean he was… "No, I mean – feelings, emotions."

"You seem," Edwin said slowly, "too bright to be just an apprentice. A bit old for one, also."

Merlin gave him a smile, hearing Arthur's laughter in his head at the suggestion. "Oh, don't be fooled – I'm not that bright," he said lightly. He took a step, and his hand brushed lightly over a small wooden box, three inches deep and about the size of his hand outstretched. The lid was inlaid with black leather, embossed with a collection of runes – he'd barely caught a glimpse before Edwin snatched the box out of his hand.

"Yes, we will need that," the other man said smoothly. It was the only object in the entire room that he didn't want Merlin handling – he'd carried everything else up, and Edwin had fairly preened over his alchemy set-up – "We must hurry to the Lady Morgana, before it is too late." Suddenly their odd little conversation was over.

Merlin picked up the set of larger, heavier boxes and followed. Why unpack the unnecessary equipment, and keep in boxes that which was needed? He couldn't figure the other physician out, but then again, Gaius' habits and quirks had taken him almost three months now to begin to work out.

Arthur was leaning against the wall next to the door when Merlin followed the stranger inside Morgana's room, and met Merlin's eyes deliberately. Perhaps he hadn't discovered anything about their guest either way, but he'd finally gotten admission to the sickroom. Obeying Edwin's orders concerning the boxes, Merlin nonetheless sent his gaze all over the room, keen on details, any hint of anything untoward, as he'd felt when he'd filled Arthur's gifted goblet and activated the poisonous residue. He didn't dare approach the bedside – she was white and still, but otherwise he couldn't divine any other symptom, himself.

Although, his eye did wander back to the sheaf of large white lilies gracing Morgana's bedside table. A gift from a suitor? he wondered, and scolded himself for jealousy. It did not deserve his attention.

"Sire," Edwin said, "I would be grateful if you could have everyone leave the room. I require peace and privacy."

Uther said politely, "Certainly." He took Arthur's sleeve as he passed through the doorway, Arthur threw Merlin an exasperated look over his shoulder which Merlin read immediately. Uther had barred Merlin from the room for several days, now, but was willing to let a stranger stay unsupervised. He rolled his eyes in response, but hesitated himself when he realized that his mentor hadn't moved.

"That includes you, Gaius," Edwin said shortly.

"But I am eager to learn from your methods," Gaius said. Merlin had never heard him use such a tone before – the words, yes, he was always interested to discuss new methods or herb usages with other healers – but such belligerence, never.

"Now is not the time for giving instruction," Edwin said sharply. "I will need all my concentration."

From the hallway, the king's voice was audible, calling for Gaius, who turned and left without another word. Merlin lingered, curious, but also feeling wrong-footed – it wasn't jealousy, he thought, that a stranger would be granted what he himself was so strictly forbidden, but a sense that Morgana should not be left alone. And Gaius never demanded such solitude with a patient.

But Edwin's eyes were on him, waiting. So he ducked out and closed the door behind him, as well.

…..*…..

Arthur had taken his frustration to the training field. Facing the straw dummy clothed in spare bits of armor, he stepped through the forms, beginning with the simplest footwork, strike and parry that the youngest squires were taught, proceeding methodically to the riskiest and fanciest of moves. Unfortunately, he was so familiar with it by now that while his body was fully occupied, his mind was left free to wander.

Moments only, it had taken Edwin to emerge, claiming his cure effective, offering a bloody cloth for proof that Gaius' chosen course of treatment was actually killing Morgana. _Name your reward_, the king had said.

The scarred physician had demurred, initially. No reward necessary. The good health of the patient was sufficient. But somehow that had progressed into staying in Camelot, into dining alone with the king. Somehow Edwin's self-abasement translated into an adroit manipulation of King Uther. And Arthur couldn't work out why.

What bothered him was the question that Uther hadn't asked yet. With Edwin, an evidently accomplished healer, a permanent fixture at court, the suggestion could not be long in coming, that Gaius had in Edwin all the assistant he needed.

And where would that leave Merlin? Uther's treatment of the former druid was night-and-day different to his solicitation of Edwin. For Arthur's father, the choice would be easy.

Arthur decapitated the straw dummy.

…..*…..

Merlin knocked on the door of Edwin's guest chamber, toying with the visiting physician's tiny silver knife that he was returning. There was no answer, and Merlin opened the door without really considering his actions or motivations.

There was something, that he knew. Something off, with Edwin, with Gaius. Something off between them. He didn't like not knowing.

He went to lay the knife on the cluttered table with the other equipment – just lay it down and leave, his errand innocent, none of the rest any of his business – and his eye fell once again on the small box with the rune-written lid.

He picked it up.

The druids weren't much for the written word. Their teaching traditions were oral, spells and prophecies and wisdom memorized and passed on to the adepts. In getting used to the differences of life in Camelot, Merlin was also adjusting to the idea of going to Gaius' books – of having a court library available for research – rather than relying on his own sometimes faulty memory. He spoke the words aloud as he read them, not intending to work the spell, but something about them pricked his memory. _Berbay odothay arisan_ – almost exactly the spell he'd used to bring the snakes from Valiant's shield to life – _yeldo_. Not just to come to life, but to come – _out_? What?

The box trembled in his hands, a scratching whisper coming from inside. In for a penny, in for a pound – he lifted the lid. Inside was a teeming welter of shiny-backed black beetles.

"Very good," Edwin said condescendingly from behind him. Merlin jumped, knocking over a bottle of blue powder as he turned, inwardly cursing himself for getting caught. Now how to play this off? Edwin took the box from him as if it was nothing of import – exactly the opposite from the way he'd snatched it from him previously. Because as a fellow sorcerer he was more trustworthy? "_Sfeffin_," Edwin whispered, and the beetles all calmed into perfect stillness. He shut the lid with a decisive snap. "You have magic," he said.

Merlin gave him a smile, tipping his head in a questioning way. "So do you," he said. "And Uther knows about me…"

Something in Edwin's eyes changed. Merlin knew what he looked like, what strangers almost always assumed when meeting him for the first time, and sometimes it was kind of nice to be treated as just another clumsy, stupid-if-well-meaning young man, not the powerful sorcerer and dangerous dragonlord. But Edwin was re-evaluating him, now, him and his not-quite threat.

"These little angels," Edwin remarked deliberately, "are how I cured the Lady Morgana. They repaired the damage to her brain. They saved her life."

Merlin worked to keep the skepticism from his face. There was so much Gaius hadn't taught him yet, but never a whisper of something like this, not even within the realm of magic. "Magic should be used to make this a better world," he commented ambiguously. "But Uther has rather definite ideas about the sort of world he commands."

"Should I have let Morgana die," Edwin said, "while I waited for the king to decide whether he wanted to _allow_ me to use my magic to save her?"

Merlin tasted blood as he bit his tongue. His own question, turned back on him. He said, deliberately calm, "Gaius doesn't like me to use magic either, right away. Only as a last resort. He wants me to understand the craft of medicine without magic, as well as with." He turned to the table, began to dust the spilled powder into his palm.

Edwin made a slightly mocking noise. "Why waste a talent like yours? There is so much I could teach you. _Formien doost ronane_." The powder swirled up from Merlin's hands, spiraled back into the mouth of the bottle. "About medicine – and about magic. A gift like yours should be nurtured, practiced, enjoyed. You need someone to help you, to encourage you, not to hold you back."

Merlin said nothing. He felt a very real sense of guilt, knowing that on some level he recognized Edwin's words as true, having to admit that he'd sometimes resented the old physician's caution and strict adherence to non-magical solutions, healing magic used only in dire circumstances. Feeling also a tainted yearning to discover – what Gaius hesitated to reveal to him, Edwin would revel in.

"Imagine what we could achieve, if we shared our knowledge. Gaius has learning, it is true, but his magic is – limited. I daresay he envies you at times."

Merlin said, "I have to be going. I have –"

"Of course. Your master keeps you very busy." Edwin nodded condescendingly. "Running errands. It's a pity you aren't your own master…"

Merlin found he resented _everyone_, in that moment, a feeling so dark and uncomfortable he broke it by asking, "Do you mind if I ask you how you got that scar?"

The smile was twisted by the damaged tissue on the right side of Edwin's face. "When I was a child, there was a battle near our village. I was told, catapults hurled hollow clay vessels filled with oil set alight. The fields burned, the fire spread… our home caught fire. My parents were inside. I escaped, but…" He gestured to the daily reminder of the horror in his past.

"I'm so sorry," Merlin whispered. He knew a little something about catapults. And fire. "Anything you need, just ask, I'll be happy to get for you."

Edwin smiled as Merlin let himself out, and he turned to find Gaius in the hallway.

"Errands," Merlin said in awkward explanation. And since when were things awkward between him and Gaius? The old physician had volunteered his assistance to Edwin, himself. "Shall I get you anything while I'm out?"

"No, I'm well supplied for now," Gaius said. A moment of silence. Then the old man said, with a trace of his former kindness, "Was there – anything you wished to tell me, Merlin? Anything you wished to ask me?"

The beetles. But if they were magic, Gaius would disapprove. And Uther didn't know that Edwin had used magic – any backlash that the visitor caught of the king's ire might find its way to Merlin, also. And… there was still something there. "No," he said. "But, Gaius… is there anything that _I_ should know? About –"

Gaius drew himself up. There was that same moment of consideration that Merlin had just passed through, the decision to keep his own counsel. And Gaius said, "No."

…..*…..

Summer was almost upon them, and it was hot and quiet under the roof of boughs.

Arthur had gone looking for Merlin. He knew that his friend was spending time outside the city walls of Camelot, filling the requests for medicinal plants for both Gaius and Edwin - in plentiful supply this time of year, and normally Arthur knew the errand would not have taken him long. But he had the unwelcome suspicion that Merlin was being gotten out of the way. He wondered if Merlin felt it too.

He finally found him perched on an exposed oak root, a bundle of heather tied next to him on the ground, idly stripping one shoot. Arthur remembering how Leon used to painstakingly bore the marrow and trim tiny holes to form makeshift pipes – and then he'd startle everyone for miles with his shrill shrieking.

"Merlin," he said.

His friend gave him a covert glance over his shoulder. "What happened."

"My father," Arthur said carefully, "was concerned at the – apparent mistake Gaius made with Morgana." Merlin didn't react, so Arthur continued. "He invited Edwin to – check through the court medical records." That had the younger man twisting around to stare at Arthur, though his expression was set and gave nothing away. "As a second opinion, so to speak."

"And what does Edwin think?" Merlin asked, still inscrutable.

Arthur took a few steps to one side, to lean against a tree, and Merlin's eyes tracked him. "Gaius has served my father for twenty-five years, you know," he said. "Edwin is a younger man – he's kept up with the latest developments. And – there will be errors made when methods are outdated."

The younger man was on his feet. "They're saying he's too old?" he said incredulously. "That's nonsense."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Arthur said, "but… Morgana might have died. You have to understand how my father thinks."

Merlin's blue eyes blazed, his jaw was clenched. "Yes, I think I do," he said in a low voice.

"Merlin," Arthur said. "It was Gaius – or you. My father would not have two physicians and an apprentice at court. He's quite taken with Edwin, and Gaius seems not to get on with him at all." He added, "My father is allowing Gaius to stay in his chambers until he finds more suitable accommodations. I don't doubt that you can remain in your room –"

Merlin was off like a shot, sprinting back toward the city. Arthur stared down at the bundle of heather and sighed. He'd done a poor job breaking the news, after all. He leaned down to snag the bit of cloth tied around the bundle and tucked it under his arm to deliver himself.

As he came to the door of the physician's chamber, it was ajar, and he could hear voices. He paused, so as not to interrupt, to keep any other passers-by from overhearing.

"What are you doing?" Merlin's voice, sharp with worry.

"I cannot stay when there is no longer a use for me." Gaius sounded old, and tired.

"He's not a better physician than you." Merlin's voice, spoken in little more than a whisper, but so intense that Arthur shivered. "He's _not_. I came here to learn from _you_, and there's so much yet… I'll come with you."

Arthur put his hand on the door to push his way inside, to protest. But Gaius said firmly, "No, Merlin, you must remain here. You belong in Camelot. You belong at Arthur's side, you know that. You both have a great destiny, and if I have had a small part to play in that, then I am pleased. But it seems my time here is done."

"No – you belong here, too! Having magic isn't enough, knowing _what_ to do with it isn't enough – I'm still learning how to decide and without someone I trust –"

"Merlin, you're like a son to me." By the silence that followed, Arthur guessed his friend was just as stunned as he was, to hear the depth of emotion in those words from this taciturn old man. "I never expected such a blessing so late in life."

The young man's voice broke. "And you are more than a father to me. Please."

Arthur set the bundle of heather down, careful to be as quiet as humanly possible. He should not be listening, not to this conversation. The old physician's words floated after him as he moved to the stairway.

"I'm afraid I'm leaving here tonight, Merlin. And there's nothing you can do or say that can persuade me otherwise."

Arthur began to descend. He felt childishly selfish. He'd wanted Merlin to stay, had been relieved, actually, that his father hadn't insisted on Merlin's departure, tried to convince the two physicians to share the burden of the position. He'd forgotten Merlin's primary purpose in Camelot – to learn healing magic from Gaius. Could he learn from Edwin?

He began to understand Merlin's loss. He had no qualms whatsoever about any magic that Gaius might direct Merlin to do. He'd known Gaius since birth and trusted him implicitly; he knew the quality of the old man's character. Edwin was… unknown at best. At worst, manipulative and secretive – no, he wasn't happy either about having Merlin apprentice with Edwin Muirden.

But his father had made his decision, and there was nothing anyone could do.

…..*…..

Gaius was gone. Merlin wandered the hallways of the palace as he had been for several hours, unable to stay alone in the physician's chambers. Unable to picture Edwin there, going through the things Gaius had left - discarding, or keeping. He wondered if anyone would say anything if he gathered everything from the main chamber to store in his bedroom. There would be little room left to sleep, then, but at least… The thought occurred to him, he'd have to get a lock for that door.

Arthur darted past a doorway, skidded to a stop, and leaped through to grab Merlin's sleeve. "My father has Morgana's illness!" he gasped. "We must find Edwin!"

It was _catching_? He didn't understand, but at least he knew those beetles somehow represented a cure. Merlin dashed away to Edwin's guest chamber, supposing he'd have to wake the new court physician. His mouth twisted bitterly at the thought – and dropped right open as he burst through the door.

A ring of snarling, leaping flames, fully five feet high, encircled his old mentor – who hadn't left Camelot after all. Edwin stood opposite, eyes eager and hand upraised to guide the fire he was evidently in command of – this far surpassed jealousy and professional rivalry.

"What are you doing?" he gasped, not sure which man he was addressing the question to.

"He was trying to kill the king!" Gaius called to him over the crackle of the flames surrounding him. "I couldn't let him!"

None of it made sense to Merlin. But one thing was clear – Gaius was the one in danger, Edwin the threat. Merlin probed the conjured fire; he could intervene to prevent any harm coming to the old man, but it was a spell sustained by Edwin and could only be halted by him.

The scarred face twisted in a manic grin. "I can rule the kingdom now! With you at my side, we can be all-powerful!"

"Release him," Merlin advised, trying to keep calm. The king was ill, Gaius was accusing Edwin of an attempted assassination, and Edwin himself was trying to burn the court physician alive and take the throne and convince Merlin to switch loyalties – and there was no time for any of it!

"Your loss!" Edwin snarled, and glanced golden menace toward the decorative battle-ax mounted over the fireplace. The heavy blade gleamed, flipping end over end for Merlin's head.

He reacted instinctively with a wordless shield that acted to repel and reverse any attack made – leaning so far back to avoid the cutting edge that he almost lost his balance – and the ax spun backward toward the spell's caster. Merlin flinched at the sodden crunch and turned from the crumpled heap in the corner. The flames diminished, receded, leaving not so much as a scorch mark on the stone floor.

Think later – act now. "Are you all right?" Merlin said to Gaius, going immediately to Edwin's worktable.

"Yes, thank you, Merlin." The old man sounded a little faint, but Merlin knew the physician was made of stern stuff. "What are you doing?"

"Uther's ill – the same thing Morgana had." Merlin located the box, picked it up. He wished he'd asked for a clearer explanation of how exactly the beetles were supposed to heal the damaged brain. "Edwin said he used these to cure Morgana, maybe we can –"

"Elanthia beetles!" Gaius gasped. "So that's how he did it! Merlin, these beetles can be enchanted to enter the brain, feed on it until they devour the person's very soul. Edwin _caused_ the illness!"

…..*…..

Arthur was pacing again, this time in his father's chamber. Uther looked exactly as Morgana had, pale and lifeless; he hadn't moved since Arthur had entered, intending to speak to him once again on the question of the appointment of Muirden over Gaius. At least the scarred new physician had the answer to whatever this was – but what the hell was _taking_ so long!

The door flew open – but it wasn't Edwin with Merlin.

"Gaius?" Arthur said. "I thought you had gone? Where's Edwin?"

Merlin gave him a pale grimace as he passed, straight as an arrow to the king's bedside. "Edwin's dead," he said shortly.

"There will be a time for explanations later," Gaius stated. "For now, we must heal the king."

Arthur rounded the bed as Merlin half-knelt, half-sat beside Uther's unresponsive body. "With magic?" he said. "Edwin used magic to heal Morgana? Why didn't he tell us?"

"Why do you think?" Gaius said. "Through the ear is likeliest, Merlin."

Merlin reached out both hands, then hesitated, and glanced up at Arthur. "Do you believe he would allow this," he said in a low voice.

Arthur clenched his teeth together. "To save his life, yes," he returned. "And in any case, you have my full permission. Do whatever is necessary – I will take responsibility."

Merlin's gaze returned to the king's slack, white face and for one sickened instant, Arthur wondered if it had occurred to the young sorcerer simply to let the old king die. His life would be much easier, no doubt about that – but it was the same choice that Uther made, in forbidding Arthur to try for the antidote to the poison that was killing Merlin.

But the sorcerer's thoughts were somewhere else entirely. He glanced up at Gaius. "I'm not sure I know how. If I do something wrong…"

"If you don't try," Gaius said softly, gently, "he's going to die."

Merlin nodded, and positioned his hands at either side of Uther's head, cupped slightly but not touching the king. Arthur leaned forward, intent on the magic and the result, holding his breath that he might not disturb his friend's concentration. He whispered words that Arthur could not understand, and his eyes flashed golden down upon the dying monarch.

A moment passed and there seemed to be no change. "What's happening?" Arthur demanded in a whisper. Merlin drew back, and held out one hand. On his palm was a small black beetle; it looked dead to Arthur. "What the hell," he said between his teeth.

"Has anyone ever told you, you're a genius?" Gaius said.

Merlin's grin quirked in relief. "You certainly haven't," he quipped.

"Almost," Gaius allowed. "One day." Merlin laughed softly, nodding in acceptance of his mentor's teasing.

Arthur found himself relaxing – the world of medicine was beyond him, but if they could joke, then he believed the situation was resolved. "Might someone now explain to me what is going on?"

Gaius took a deep breath and let it out. "I didn't recognize him at first," he told them, bending over the king to check him – absently, and that gave Arthur hope. "I treated him for those burns as a child – it was after one of your father's worst battles, Arthur. A fire had started, and spread to consume a nearby village. I believe he blamed your father, and returned to Camelot now for revenge."

"You mean he was going to kill my father with an enchanted beetle?" Arthur said incredulously. Merlin rolled his eyes and thrust out the hand still holding the dead insect. "But why didn't you say anything?" he asked the old physician. "Why did you let my father send you away?"

"I should've said," Merlin spoke abruptly, staring down into his palm. "I saw these; Edwin claimed they aided in healing."

Gaius laid his hand on the younger man's bent shoulder. "No blame falls on you," he said. "I thought I might be doing Edwin Muirden an injustice, suspecting his motives in coming here. I thought I might be letting jealousy cloud my judgment. And I admit I assumed anything I reported to your father would be dismissed as the jealous ramblings of an old has-been."

Uther's faint groan interrupted them, and Merlin unfolded from the king's bedside, retreating to the door.

"Where are you going?" Gaius said.

"I shouldn't be here," Merlin said, "when he wakes."

"Why on earth not?" Arthur said. "You've just saved his life – this changes everything."

Merlin shook his head. "I'm happy for Gaius to have the credit," he said simply, and shifted his gaze to his mentor. "Uther should know he was wrong about you." He gave them a smile, and slipped through the door, closing it softly behind him.

Gaius huffed. "He's too generous for his own good," the old man observed to Arthur. "For a genius, that boy can be an idiot."

Arthur wholeheartedly agreed.


	6. The Gates of Avalon

**A/N: Sincerest apologies. I changed my mind (which I hardly ever do after beginning to upload) on the format. I've revised it to be one ep per chapter, due to the fact that some of these were getting very long, and it didn't make sense to me anymore to have the end of one ep and the beginning of another in one chapter… so this chapter is old material, but the next is all of ep.1.8 "Another Beginning" (my title for "The Beginning of the End**_**"**_**), and tomorrow I should have another complete chapter of ep.1.9 "Excalibur". Thanks for bearing with me!**

**VII. The Gates of Avalon**

Before Merlin came to Camelot, Arthur was rarely allowed to leave the confines of the city without at least one guard, and Uther preferred two. Now, though, the young sorcerer routinely acted the prince's bodyguard, and if the king knowingly risked injury to his heir to prove Merlin's incompetence, Arthur himself wasn't worried. Merlin suited him just fine as a companion and guard both, whenever he escaped the pressures and expectations of the city to roam the woods.

He could chatter and exchange insults when Arthur needed cheering, and he could move like a ghost in sunlight when Arthur was intent upon his prey. Unfortunately, Arthur had the sneaking suspicion that Merlin also employed his own version of a regulation of Arthur's kills. Whether because he resisted the burden of extra weight or had a better idea than Arthur of what would be welcomed in the palace kitchen. A not-so-subtle hint that he was tired or bored – or a genuine interest in the flora of the place rather than the fauna. When Merlin was done hunting, so was Arthur, whether he liked it or not.

Arthur froze in place, seeing through a gap in the foliage a young buck, less than fifty yards. Still too far – the buck raised its head, alerted somehow. No use, then, sneaking closer; Arthur leveled the crossbow.

And Merlin blundered right into his back, sending the bolt wild and spooking the buck to kick up his hooves and disappear. "Merlin!" he growled.

"What is it?" his friend returned with a complete lack of concern, untangling the string that dangled a brace of rabbits already.

"You know, you really are –"

"I was just asking," Merlin cut him off.

"Who were you asking? Me or the deer?" Arthur huffed, and reminded the younger man, "Hunting requires speed, stealth, and an agile mind." He re-wound the crossbow, fitting another bolt into the groove.

Merlin shot back with a grin, "So you get by on two out of three, then?" Arthur opened his mouth to inquire which of the three Merlin supposed he _didn't_ possess, and was interrupted by a scream which yanked his attention from his friend. He was already moving when Merlin said, almost to himself, "What was that?" by the sound of it hard on Arthur's heels.

"Help!" It was a woman's voice, and he lengthened his stride.

He could see them before he reached them – four bandits. Two had a yellow-cloaked female restrained between them, a third was menacing a blue-cloaked man, prostrate and begging for mercy. The fourth raised a sword – Arthur shot him down with the crossbow one-handed and tossed it aside, drawing his sword on the run.

One of the bandits released the woman in the yellow cloak to attack; Arthur parried the blow, ducking and elbowing the man hard in the back of the neck, sending him stumbling back, just in time to duck a swing from the third. Overbalanced, the bandit could not recover in time to defend against Arthur's sword, which stabbed through the center of his body. The woman was freed as the last bandit chose flight over fight.

Without sparing him more than a glance, Arthur spun to finish the one he'd knocked behind him – just in time to see Merlin glance up with a golden flash, and an enormous section of dead branch crash down onto the attacker, who crumpled motionless.

"Stroke of luck," Arthur told Merlin, pulling back on his instinctive smile.

"You think I drop them without _aiming_?" Merlin returned. He hadn't even let go the string of Arthur's rabbits.

Arthur crossed to the strangers, the man in the blue cloak on his feet now – of his own father's age, face lined, grey hair and beard short and neat. He had his arms around the woman in the yellow cloak, comforting her. "Are you all right?" Arthur asked them. "They didn't hurt you?"

The woman turned, reaching to fold down the hood of her cloak. "No, thanks to you."

Arthur's heart kicked in his chest. She smiled, and all he could think was – honey. The golden brown silk of her dress, the lighter hue of the cloak, the warm light brown of her eyes, the perfect shade of her hair between blonde and brown, the delicate strand of fine gold chain that dipped from her tresses onto the smooth white skin of her forehead. His eyes dropped to her lips and he wondered if she _tasted_ –

"I'm Sophia, this is my father," the girl added.

Arthur wished, now, that he had a pair of proper guards rather than only a skinny, gawky boy in attendance – that he himself was wearing better than his oldest of forest-prowling clothes, sweaty and out-of-breath, and - He bent over her offered hand to kiss it. "Arthur Pendragon, at your service," he said. "I have horses not far from here, please allow me to escort you to Camelot."

…..*…..

Merlin couldn't stop grinning. And Arthur couldn't seem to stop glancing behind him at the pair of strangers they'd rescued in the woods, mounted on the horses they'd ridden into the forest earlier that morning. Or at least, he couldn't stop sneaking looks at the lady.

"Do me a favor, Arthur," he said conversationally as the white stone of the citadel came into sight, the lower town just around a bend in the road.

"Hm?" Arthur said, not paying him any attention.

"When I fall in love, could you remind me to apply a little subtlety?"

"What?" Arthur frowned at him in confusion, then shoved him out of stride. "I'm not in love, Merlin, it's just…"

"She is, um, very beautiful," Merlin remarked.

"Yes, she is." Arthur glanced back again. "But my intentions are entirely honorable. And I'm not in love – trust me, when I am, you'll be the first to know."

"Now that's just ridiculous," Merlin said reasonably. "_You'll_ be the first to know. And then the lady, probably. And then you'll have to tell your father, and your sister… Gaius will be interested to know, and there's Geoffrey and Leon…"

"No, you're right," Arthur said. "I won't bother telling you at all. You can hear it from someone else?"

"Fine by me," Merlin said, darting him a sidelong glance. "If you're going to be even more – hm, _distracted_…"

"Shut up, _Mer_lin."

Arthur kept his eyes resolutely forward after that, Merlin was amused to note, through the lower town, over the drawbridge, across the courtyard. He did turn at the stairs to invite the visitors to accompany him into the king's presence, but he glanced at Merlin and was very formal.

Merlin delayed a few moments to be sure the stable attendant took charge of the mounts they'd taken earlier that morning, then headed for the kitchen with Arthur's pair of rabbits. Stew, he rather thought, it sounded good for dinner.

"Who is that?"

He raised his head at the sharpness of the question. Morgana fairly stomped toward him down the corridor, regal in purple silk, her expression disturbed. He glanced over his shoulder as Sophia, sweet smile in place, followed Arthur down an intersecting hall toward the throne room. "Sophia Tirmawr," he answered the princess. "We rescued her in the woods. Their home was sacked by raiders, they're traveling through Camelot to Caerleon."

"She can't stay here," Morgana stated emphatically. As she drew closer, Merlin noticed that she was white as a sheet, her eyes dark.

"Uther always welcomes visiting nobility…" He ventured to say, "Is everything okay?"

She drew a deep breath, not looking at him, but staring down the now-empty hallway. "Yes, thank you," she said absently, and continued on without another look.

…..*…..

"You seem very fond of her," Morgana said, following Arthur into his room, her tone almost accusing.

"You make that sound like it's a bad thing," he tossed over his shoulder, unbuckling his belt and shrugging out of his jacket.

"Not necessarily," she said. "You've just – never fallen under a woman's spell before."

"Don't you start," he sighed, pouring himself a cup of water from the pitcher on the side table.

"She isn't what she seems," Morgana said. "I – had another dream, Arthur. A nightmare. I've talked to Gaius already, but –"

Arthur opened his mouth to ask her to explain, to give specifics. He knew what her dreams meant. But what came out was a loud guffaw. "Morgana! You care?"

Her eyes narrowed, her concern eclipsed by their sibling friction. "Less and less by the second," she shot back.

"All right," he said breezily. "Whatever you say."

"You're intolerable," she told him, flouncing to the door. "I just hope I'm wrong about her."

…..*…..

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Gaius said to Merlin, as he seated himself at the old physician's worktable. "_Three_ days in a row?"

"Arthur doesn't need me," Merlin said. "He's with Sophia again."

"Again?" Gaius said, surprised. "He already missed a patrol with his father and a knighting ceremony."

"He seems besotted with her," Merlin said, wistfully. "I suppose he wants to make the most of the time he has with her before she and her father leave Camelot."

"But they've only just met," Gaius said.

"Love at first sight?" Merlin said. He didn't think he was quite ready for Arthur to begin courting in earnest, it would mean a lot of changes in a place he'd only just begun considering his home. He wasn't sure how he felt about extending the loyalty he felt for Arthur to a wife, and what that might mean for their shared future.

"I suppose it might be," Gaius hesitated.

"What is it?"

"I fear that Sophia may not be all that she seems." Gaius watched him scoot forward on the bench, lean over his arms on the tabletop. "What do you know about seers?"

"Not much," Merlin said. "I'm not one, so the elders never bothered to teach me that branch of magic. They're supposed to see the future, like prophets."

"It's said to be an innate ability," Gaius told him. "Those who have it are born that way. Some aren't even aware that what they see is the future – it comes to them in their dreams."

Merlin shook his head, convinced they weren't discussing Sophia anymore. "You mean Morgana," he said. "The nightmares?"

Gaius nodded. "She dreams nightly, but most nights she wakes without a clear recollection of what she's seen beyond random or nonsensical images. I give her a sleeping draught to help with that. But once in a while, she remembers a dream even through the herbal sleeping aid, and those dreams almost always come to pass. If not always in the way it seems to her."

"What's this got to do with Sophia?"

"The night before she and Aulfric came to Camelot, Morgana had a dream and Sophia was in it. She said she dreamed that Sophia killed Arthur."

Merlin could sit still no longer. He pushed up from the bench and began to pace, from the window to the patient bed, from the bed to the cupboard of prepared mixtures. And back again. "Why didn't she tell _me_?" he said. "Resident sorcerer, and all that? Didn't she think I'd be able to _help_?"

"Morgana?" Gaius snorted at Merlin's short nod. "My boy, for all your superior height, you are still two years her junior. She may always view you as a younger brother in need of her care."

Merlin huffed and rolled his eyes. "Is she like me, then? Can she use magic?"

Gaius gave him a fond but gruff reminder, "No one's like you, Merlin. And for her sake, I hope this is the extent of her power."

"Why?" Merlin said.

"She is the princess of Camelot, Merlin. She is no more free to go to the Isle of the Priestesses to study magic than Arthur is."

"Shouldn't matter," Merlin said. "She can learn from you, can't she?"

Gaius shook his head in exasperation. "You don't truly understand how special you are, do you? It is not as simple or as easy as a few hasty lessons – and have you forgotten who her father is?" Merlin grimaced. "He'd have both our heads for even entertaining the thought of teaching his daughter magic. But you may be right about being the one to help," the old physician continued. "Aulfric caught me in Sophia's room yesterday, and in a flash of anger, his eyes changed color."

"Gold, like he was using magic?"

"No, red." Merlin stopped in his tracks and stared at his mentor. Gaius added, "It's not who they are that worries me. It's what they want with Arthur."

The door creaked open, and Morgana stood in the gap. "Arthur's requested an audience with Father," she told them; it didn't escape Merlin's attention that her eyes were on Gaius. "Something to do with Sophia and Aulfric."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Gaius said, in an attempt to be reassuring. He turned to Merlin, and Morgana followed his look.

Merlin shrugged his ignorance. "He's said nothing to me."

After a tense moment of silence, Gaius decided, "Let's go. We should hear what he has to say before we jump to conclusions."

…..*…..

Arthur twisted the wide silver ring he wore on his left forefinger. He stood alone in the center of the floor, courtiers and nobles lined on either side of the room. His love and her father were somewhere behind him, waiting expectantly. He knew this was his duty to accomplish, that it was important.

Uther finished reading the report he held and handed it off to Geoffrey as Morgana entered from a side door and took her place at the king's right hand, raising his eyes to grant his son permission to begin.

"I requested this audience, Father, to discuss a matter of great importance," Arthur said. "It cannot have escaped your attention that I and the Lady Sophia Tirmawr have grown very close."

"Not too close, I hope," his father said dismissively.

"We're in love," Arthur declared. "Which is why I come before you today to ask your permission to marry." He turned to give his love an encouraging smile – wasn't he fulfilling his promise to keep them together? Behind her, behind her father, he saw one face clearly out of the crowd. Merlin. His friend. Shocked, by his expression. Vaguely he wondered why that should be so, why Merlin's reaction should concern him, but was interrupted from the thought by his father's laughter. Arthur faced the throne again, putting Merlin behind him.

"I assume you're joking," Uther said.

"No. I'm going to marry her." He spoke firmly. Yes, that was something he was sure of. Another one was, "We're in love." Or had he already said that? Oh, well, it was something he couldn't repeat too often.

"In love?" Uther repeated. "We had no idea that you were such a romantic, had we, Morgana?"

His sister's attention seemed to be focused on the crowd behind him, also. "No, he's full of surprises."

Arthur stood, uncertain for a brief moment. Then he remembered the two things that were important, and said again, "I'm going to marry her." There, that should take care of that. He turned and made to leave, grabbing Sophia's hand to bring her along. He loved her, after all, and was going to marry her.

"Guards – door." The king's voice rang out, and the attendants at the open double doors promptly crossed their halberds. Arthur turned. The king added, "You've forgotten whose court you're standing in."

"You won't stop me," Arthur said stubbornly. "If I want to marry her, I will."

Morgana leaned over the arm of her seat to cup her hand around her mouth and whisper in their father's ear, glancing sharply at them. Uther's expression changed from irritation to calculated fury.

"Arrest Sophia and Aulfric Tirmawr," the king said in a voice dangerously quiet. "Inform the executioner that his services will be required tomorrow morning."

Arthur stood, once again uncertain of his response. He couldn't marry her if she was executed, of course, but… He looked at Merlin as if that young man might have a solution for his dilemma, but saw only a watchful darkness on his face.

"You can't do this," Aulfric said. "We are members of the nobility; we have committed no crime."

"No crime?" Uther said, shifting in his seat toward Morgana, whose weight remained on the arm of the chair between them. "It seems quite clear that you have enchanted my son, the crown prince of Camelot, in order to gain access to the throne."

Arthur felt an explosive rising of fury, swiftly and coolly checked through no volition of his own. Temper would accomplish nothing, if he loved Sophia and wanted to marry her. What he must do now was… Arthur bent his head subserviently to his father. You see – no enchantment. Just a hot-blooded young man carried away because he loves Sophia and wants to marry her, not to witness her execution…

Uther relented with a cool smile – whether he'd believed the suggestion or had merely used it, Arthur couldn't reason out. "Release them."

…..*…..

As Merlin made his way to Arthur's chamber, he felt faintly guilty for communicating the suggestion to Morgana across the courtroom, that of enchantment. It skated on the very edge of magic Uther had no doubt suspected him of, before. And in this case, he wasn't certain anything had actually been done to Arthur, to justify making that charge. But if it kept Arthur safe…

He was alarmed to see Arthur fitted in his chainmail and red tunic when he slipped into the room, shoving more clothing into a leather bag. For all the world like an adolescent packing to run away.

"Get out," Arthur snarled at him.

Merlin was torn. He hated taking the king's side against Arthur. If Sophia had been anyone else, if Arthur had been anyone else… "I thought the king was a bit harsh," he commented. Harsh, to order immediate execution simply on the suggestion – but probably, _probably_, Uther had simply manipulated the threat to gain the result that he wanted. Arthur's cooperation. But Merlin knew Arthur better than that – that was why he was here, now.

"I don't need sympathy, Merlin," Arthur said, "especially from you." He stuffed another shirt into his bag viciously, and brushed past Merlin.

"But I did think he had a point," Merlin ventured.

"I ordered you to get out!" Arthur glared at him sullenly. "Now leave me!"

Merlin was almost completely convinced. He took another step closer, trying to handle the situation with the delicacy required. While there was even a chance he could reach his Arthur… "I know you think you're in love with Sophia," he began.

"Who are you to tell me what I'm thinking?"

Merlin took another step. "I'm your friend," he said in a low voice, and Arthur stopped. For one hopeful heartbeat Merlin thought, _that's done it, that's reached him_. He added, very softly, "You don't know what you're doing. She's cast a spell on you, Arthur – you _are_ enchanted." Without knowing what enchantment was used, he could spend hours trying to devise a counter-spell, hours he no longer had, evidently. But sometimes a victim could break free themselves, if a deep feeling or strong emotion could be evoked.

Arthur's eyes cleared. And Sophia's voice said from the doorway, "I told you people would try to keep us apart."

Just that fast, Arthur was lost to him again. "I know, I won't let that happen." He sounded half-asleep, or very young and simply repeating what he was told to say.

Merlin took a risk, turning his back on the two strangers, getting between them and Arthur to try – _ye_ _gods_ – one more time. "Don't listen to her, she's controlling you." It was a battle between them, that much was clear. Sophia held the control of the enchantment, but it was Merlin who'd formed the truer bond. He had to hope that Arthur could fight free of it somehow.

"We can elope together," Sophia said sweetly, a young girl thoughtlessly in love. "Get away from this place, these people." If Merlin hadn't heard her father promising Arthur's soul to a tiny sharp-toothed sidhe, he might have had doubts himself.

He rounded on Aulfric, still blocking Arthur from them with his own body. Perhaps if he distracted them, presented a threat, the girl might lose her focus long enough for Arthur to win free. "I saw you." Over his shoulder he said to Arthur, "I followed him. They're planning to sacrifice you."

Aulfric sneered. "And what do you know about sacrifice?"

"I know a bit," Merlin said narrowly. "I know what you're going to do. I followed you to the lake, and I heard everything." This time he turned his back deliberately. If Aulfric attacked him, it might serve to shake Arthur free of the spell-induced haze – _some_ depth of feeling might be reached. "Please, believe me – you _know_ what I'm saying is true."

Sophia said, "Don't listen to him, Arthur. Let's go, let's leave tonight." So innocently winsome, so goldenly beautiful, so promising.

"She's going to kill you," Merlin said desperately. "She doesn't care for you. She plans to sacrifice you to buy a life of immortality. If you go with her, you'll die."

Arthur shook his head slowly, in confusion, as if to clear it after a particularly hard knock on the training field. "It doesn't make sense," he said, and repeated, "We're in love."

"They're magical beings," Merlin said, almost sadly.

Stalemate could not last; he had to provoke one of the strangers into making a mistake, shocking something loose in the rigid tension of the room. He didn't suppose he could fight two such creatures in the small space of Arthur's room, not and protect Arthur also, but he'd give his life and gladly if it meant breaking that enchantment. And Arthur on guard, Arthur maybe avenging Merlin's death, would be one that would not fall to that spell again. He remembered suddenly something Gaius had mentioned.

"Look at the writing on the staff!" He grabbed for it, and Aulfric's eyes glowed red with offended fury. Merlin fell back by the prince's side. "Look at his eyes – look at him. Do you believe me now? Arthur, do you _see_?"

Arthur turned on him suddenly. "I see everything," he said in a low, dead voice, and his eyes gleamed red.

_Damn_. Merlin lunged, and Aulfric swung the staff into a lowered position, spitting the spell. Merlin's magic reacted instinctively, forming a shield over his heart, preventing the death that Aulfric intended – but his body was flung backward against the wall, and darkness descended.

How long it lasted he didn't know.

But when he opened his eyes, he saw the figure of his mentor swaying dizzily over him. "Merlin! What happened to you?"

"Aulfric?" he said thickly, an answer and a question both. His head was pounding, his back ached with even the thought of moving, but he straightened determinedly. "Where's Arthur? I have to go after him." He glanced up at Gaius, all his senses disoriented. "What's that buzzing noise?" It sounded as if a hive of bees had decided his head was hollow and had taken up residence.

Gaius passed a hand over the back of his head, and peered into his eyes. "You can't," he said, a purely medical conclusion. "Not in this state."

Merlin shrugged off the physician's hands and staggered to his feet, clutching his head between both hands as if it might be in danger of falling apart otherwise. "I have to go."

"Careful, Merlin, you can barely stand up." Gaius rose also, reaching to steady him, and paused, his hand on Merlin's chest over his heart. "I believe you owe it to your powers that you survived this at all," he added softly.

Merlin was impatient. Arthur was traveling further away by the minute. "I'll be fine," he said, trying to disentangle himself from the old man's care. "He needs me."

Gaius was persistent. "Has the buzzing stopped?"

"Yes."

The old physician growled his diagnosis, "Liar."

"Gaius, I have to go." Merlin gave his head a final rub and straightened his spine with a painful effort. "He'll die if I don't."

"The sidhe are a vicious people," Gaius warned him, finally dropping his hands. "You must be careful."

"Don't worry." Merlin attempted to grin, turning instinctively in the direction that led to Arthur. "I know what I'm doing."

"Merlin? This way."

He blinked and found himself at the window – no, of course he couldn't go through an upper-story window, not even if the shortest distance between him and Arthur was – "Just testing," he told Gaius, turning to dash to the door.

Merlin loved running. Stretching his legs, his muscles, his lungs, pushing himself harder and faster and longer, thinking only about the wind in his hair and the placement of his next step… Merlin used to love running.

It was dark, and his vision still tended to deceive him. And _hells_, he felt slow. If he was too late – if he was too late – His boot caught on a root and he crashed to the ground, blacking out in an instant of nauseating pain. He wished he could lie still, not have to move, not have to think or worry.

He scrambled up and sprinted on. It had been night when he'd followed Aulfric to the lake before, seen the opaque glow of the water's surface, slowed time to see the flitting lights take form and shape and marveled at the wonder of it. He rather sympathized with Aulfric's wish to return to such an existence, to provide an everlasting protection for the one he loved. Only… you didn't sacrifice another's life _ever_, unwilling, and for such a small selfish purpose.

He pounded on until his magic warned him he was close, the enchantment at its height. Aulfric was making no attempt to hide or disguise – his hands outstretched, his voice a bellowing echo of chanted spell.

_ The sidhe are vicious. You owe it to your powers that you survived at all. I promise you the soul of Arthur Pendragon._

Merlin's reluctance was overcome in seconds, only. "_Onbregdan_!" he called the staff at Aulfric's feet to his hand. The older man was startled, turned to face the threat with his own staff of power ready. Merlin almost missed catching the slender shaft of rune-carved wood, and leveled it too swiftly for thought. "_Swilte, gold beorth_!" he shouted. A twisted line of blue fire sprang forth from the crystal set in the end of the shaft, striking Aulfric into a thousand burning scraps that swiftly dissipated.

He made it three more steps as a feminine shriek sounded from the water. "Father – no! No!"

_The sidhe are… survived at all… the soul of_… Arthur was nowhere in sight. There was no choice. He pointed the staff again. "_Acwele_!" The result was the same - the beautiful girl, terrified and shocked and frantic at the violent death of her father, blasted apart in an instant.

Merlin sobbed, flinging the staff away, yanking off his jacket, and charging out into the water. "Arthur, Arthur!" he shouted. The viscosity of the lake pulled at his legs, he stumbled and fell in the water only knee-deep, his feet twisting on the stony bottom. Pushing forward to reach the place where Sophia had been, he filled his lungs and plunged down.

The water was cold, inimical – determined to keep its prize. By contrast, his body seemed afire, chest and head and eyes uncomfortably hot. His hands searched – oh so slowly! – damn that chainmail, it added ten pounds to Arthur's weight. He'd have gone straight to the bottom. Merlin surfaced, gasping for another lungful before kicking for the bottom again, kicking to keep himself down, frantically sweeping the murky depths for one touch of his friend, his prince. If he'd had to take clean air twice already, what must Arthur…

There. His fingertips brushed the smooth metal links that served to protect the young man's arm. He gripped for dear life, and pushed them both upward, clutching his friend's back against his chest, raising Arthur's face to the air.

…..*…..

Arthur woke in the forest. That wasn't strange, not at all. He had a vague assurance that he'd been in the forest when he'd fallen asleep. With Sophia. Not sleeping with Sophia, of course, but in the forest, and…

"Arthur?" It wasn't Sophia's voice, it was Merlin's. Soft and hoarse and actually quite close. That was wrong – he hadn't brought the younger man along on his outing with the girl he was in love with and wanted to m… no. _What_?

"What happened?" Arthur managed. "Where am I?" He rolled from his side to his back, feeling like those four bandits had got the best of him, after all. Like he'd been on a forced march, and then smothered. He coughed, and a headache bloomed red behind his eyelids.

"What do you – remember?" That breathless snag in his friend's voice caught Arthur's attention, and he turned his aching head.

Merlin was stretched full length beside him on the narrow rocky bank of a lake, his face resting right on the ground. His black hair was plastered wetly to his forehead, his eyes closed and circled in purple bruises. Arthur struggled up on his elbows. He was soaked, too, and dressed differently – not the comfortable, casual clothes he'd put on for a ramble in the woods with a girl he fancied, but full ceremonial crown prince regalia.

"There was a girl," he said. Mind and memory felt stupidly lethargic. "Sophia, she… I asked my father something about her, I asked him…" _We're in love, I'm going to marry her._ He bolted upright. "What was I _thinking_?"

"You weren't." Merlin coughed but made no other move. "Some… small consolation," he muttered. "You were enchanted to do her bidding. They were going to sacrifice you to the sidhe elders for permission to enter Avalon – which is quite beautiful, by the way."

"Sacrifice," Arthur said faintly. He looked around again. Sunlight filtered peacefully through the high leaf canopy overhead. Birds called and flitted, the breeze ruffled and dazzled the surface of the lake. They were alone, which meant… Merlin had stopped them. And saved him, again. "How come I'm wearing _this_?"

Merlin grunted. "Makes you look – or feel – more princely, maybe," he said. "I dunno. S'yer soul they were after."

Arthur shivered. But they hadn't gotten it – he wouldn't be sitting here alive, now, if they had, would he? "What happened to you?" he said. "Are you all right?"

Merlin didn't answer right away. Instead he shuffled his position on the damp pebbly sand, bringing his hands up to push himself off the ground a few inches, prop himself on his elbows. He ran his hand over the back of his head, inadvertently rubbing more sand into his hair. "Aulfric knocked me into a wall," he mumbled.

Arthur stared at him. Either he was embarrassed at such a small injury taking a powerful sorcerer by surprise, or he was greatly understating the truth. "And where was I?" Arthur demanded.

Merlin turned slightly to view him with one eye. "You were standing right there," he said mildly.

His heart sank. "I didn't – do anything to you, did I? I didn't – say anything?"

The younger man's smile was absolutely pure. "It's fine," he said. "You were enchanted."

Arthur groaned and sank back to the ground. The weather was warm enough that their soaked state was not too uncomfortable – the dragging weariness and pervasive soreness was foremost on his mind. "How long have we been here?" he asked distractedly.

"All night. Most of the morning."

"We should go back," Arthur said, making no move to force himself upright. "They'll think I eloped with Sophia, probably."

"Probably."

Arthur chuckled wryly. "Hells, my father will probably have both of us in the stocks for this."

Merlin grunted, and wheezed, "Not today, please, Arthur? Not today…"

"No." Arthur tucked one arm under his head as Merlin moved a stone out from under his ribs and laid his head down again. The sunlight touched them gently, lulled them. He yawned. "No, today we rest."


	7. Another Beginning

**VIII. Another Beginning**

It was the second week that Merlin had been allowed to assume the care of Gaius' regular patients, concocting daily or weekly fresh doses of whatever tonic was taken habitually. No mishaps yet – and, he vowed privately, there wouldn't be. He was a slow enough learner in other areas of medicine, namely, the book studies. Gaius had already promised him the extra – and often highly disgusting – chores of cleaning equipment, if he failed to answer every question about the material he was supposed to have committed to memory last night. He'd fallen asleep over the book; the leech tank had been mentioned when Gaius had found him this morning.

His thoughts had already turned to calling to mind the pages he'd studied the previous day – how much he remembered, what he'd have to review, when someone said, _Help! Help me_!

He stopped in the hallway, lifting his head in surprise to look first one way, then the other. It was a child's voice, and it had been telepathic. No one was in sight. _Where are you_? he responded, hurrying his steps. There was no response.

Everywhere he looked, servants, guards, knights and nobles going about their business. He jumped down a flight of stairs – a child, who had magic and needed help – he reached the main courtyard and slowed, scanning those going about their daily duties.

_Please, please! You have to help me_.

The voice came again, and his head snapped around, gaining a sense of direction. He headed for the drawbridge leading to the lower town, still searching visually also. _It's all right, I'm coming_, he replied. _Where are you, can you tell me_?

The voice came more faintly, not because the distance was increasing, but because the child's strength was waning. _Help me_…

Just beyond the drawbridge was a small square with a water pump, something of a gather-and-gossip place for the common people of the lower town. Merlin crossed the bridge and looked around once more.

_Emrys_, someone else said, an adult male.

He stopped in place, once again searching for someone who might be capable of mental communication. Beyond the pump was a backless bench against a stone wall, two cloaked figures rested there, the smaller leaning against the larger, who reached to lower his hood, meeting Merlin's eyes with a small smile. He was maybe ten years Merlin's senior, dark wavy hair hanging ear-length. He nodded once, and Merlin crossed to them.

"You are Merlin Emrys?" the dark-haired man said. "Apprentice to the court physician of Camelot?"

"Yes," Merlin said. "Can I help you? The child said –"

The man turned to his smaller companion, brushing the hood down kindly. It was a young boy, black hair sweaty, blue eyes slightly vacant, his round face pale. Merlin immediately knelt in front of him. "What happened?" he asked, reaching to place his fingertips on the pulse in the small wrist, touching the back of his hand in a gentle, unthreatening manner on the boy's forehead.

"We were traveling," the man answered. "To join another camp. We were attacked, and he was injured." He moved the boy's dark green cloak slightly and Merlin saw blood on the sleeve just above the boy's left elbow. "I bound it myself, but I am not a healer. Camelot was closer than our destination, and the skill of the court physician is well-known, and I worry he may have lost a lot of blood," the druid said, gathering their two packs from under the bench and slinging the straps over his shoulders.

"Why didn't you bring him inside immediately?" Merlin asked. The druid didn't answer; he seemed to be focused on encouraging the boy to stand. He tried to obey, but was clearly going to be unable to walk. The older man bent to gather him up in his arms. "No, no, let me," Merlin said, catching him as the boy's knees gave way. He balanced their weight together, then rose and settled his burden.

_Thank you, Emrys_, the boy said, not opening his mouth. He blinked dazedly, as Merlin turned to cross the drawbridge, the druid following him like a respectful shadow. The guards gave them a cursory glance, used to the sight of Merlin by now.

He crossed the courtyard in the same manner – those who noticed him had a sympathetic smile or nod for the physician's assistant carrying a boy in need of care. He paused briefly at the foot of the grand outside stair, thinking that if the pair of druids had come to Camelot last week, he could probably not have done this without residual pain in his back from Aulfric's attack. As he placed his boot carefully on the first step – it would not do to trip with this burden in his arms – a voice called out to him.

"Merlin!" He turned to greet Morgana. "Who is that? What happened?" she demanded immediately, arriving on him in a rush of purple silk and concern, stroking her fingertips over the boy's damp forehead.

"Druids," he said shortly. "He's injured, Morgana, do you mind if we –"

"Yes, yes, of course!" she said, gathering her skirt to climb the stairs beside him, watching him closely and determinedly, as if she would catch them both if Merlin stumbled.

Down the hall, around the corner, through the second guarded doorway, Merlin was out of breath by the time they reached the stairs of the tower where the court physician had his quarters. Morgana and the druid had no such difficulty, however.

"What's your name?" she said to the older man following them with their traveling supplies over his shoulder.

"Cerdan, my lady," the druid answered.

"Are you his father?"

"No, he is without family. I have cared for him as my apprentice for several years, now."

"And he was injured?" Morgana continued, without implying any blame. "How did it happen?"

The druid answered blandly, "Bandits, my lady." In Merlin's arms, the boy twitched, and Merlin glanced down at him, recognizing the hint of fear without understanding the reason.

"Disgraceful," she pronounced. "And it's part of Arthur's duties to ensure the safety of the roads with regular patrols." They reached the landing, and while Merlin stopped to catch his breath, Morgana again stepped closer to smile at the boy he carried, brush her hand comfortingly over his hair. "Let me know if you need any help, Merlin," she said. He made a noise of cheerful assent, being incapable of anything further at the moment.

…..*…..

"Arthur!" He didn't slow his step. He was late for a meeting with his father, and Morgana's tone was both determined and irate. Whatever she wished to discuss – or argue about – he didn't have the time. "Arthur!"

"Morgana!" he tossed her name over his shoulder in the same tone. But he did slow his steps slightly to allow her to catch up with him.

"You seem very busy for someone who doesn't accomplish much," she said breathlessly. It was harder for her to keep stride with him these days – he had several inches on her, and she wore such ridiculous shoes.

"What are you talking about this time?" he said.

"Bandits in the forest outside Camelot," she said. "Merlin is treating a little boy who was injured. Isn't it your job, crown prince, to remove all such undesirables from our lands?" Her tone was mocking, as always, but with an extra edge – Morgana always did care about the children.

"There are patrols," he reminded her patiently. "Who is the boy, a villager? Was his family traveling?"

She pulled him to a stop with a firm grip on the sleeve of his jacket. Her green eyes flashed at him, daring him to oppose her. "A druid," she said.

He sighed. "Morgana," he said. "Druids live in the woods. Bandits hide in the woods. It's bound to happen – they can defend themselves."

"Obviously they can't!" she countered. "Arthur, he's just a child! If you could see him…"

"And what is it that you think I can do?" he said. "Father sends men on random patrols to ensure the safety of the roads and the towns, and troops when a band of raiders or outlaws is threatening the safety of a village. Because of the transitory nature of a druid camp, they're not numbered among the people of Camelot – Morgana, you know this – and because of the presence of sorcerers in their midst, Father will not risk the lives of our men to accord them the same rights of protection."

"They are people too!" she said heatedly. "What kind of king do you think your people want, anyway, Arthur – one who follows the letter of the law, or one who provides protection to anyone he is able to?" She turned on her pointed heel and stormed off.

Arthur sighed again and turned to continue, now late for his meeting with the king. There would be blame to be expected for that, apologies without excuses – and one more thing on his mental list to accomplish today.

…..*…..

Gaius tied the bandage over the treated wound, around the boy's left arm, just above his elbow and sat back on the short bench beside the patient's bed. "Because of the danger of infection, I think we should keep the lad here overnight. Twelve or fifteen hours, and then the two of you can be on your way once more."

"Thank you," Cerdan said. "I don't know how to repay you for your kindness, both of you –"

"You don't have to," Merlin said immediately.

"Just don't tell the king that you received care free of charge," Gaius warned Cerdan somewhat facetiously. "Uther would be less than pleased to hear that you have benefitted from services provided through his patronage."

"Of course – thank you again," Cerdan said. "I will return for the boy in the morning." He bent to ruffle his charge's hair.

"I can show you out," Merlin offered, imagining that the druid would feel uncomfortable trying to navigate the halls and stairways of Uther's citadel on his own. "Will you be staying in the lower town?"

"No, I'll make camp in the forest nearby," Cerdan said, slinging their packs over his shoulder. Merlin reached for the door's latch, and it bashed into his knuckles as someone on the other side pushed it open.

"Well, you know I'm always proud of you." Morgana at her most sarcastic, which probably meant Arthur was there, too. Merlin gripped the edge of the door to pull it wide, and Morgana stepped through, carrying a tray with covered dishes that trailed wisps of steam, and a small pitcher of water. She smiled her thanks at Merlin and tossed over her shoulder, "It is good to see you actually fulfilling the duties you've been tasked with for years, now." Arthur lounged in the doorway, rolling his eyes at Merlin as Morgana carried the tray to the patients' bed.

"He's sleeping now, Morgana," Gaius said.

"I can wait," she replied cheerfully, making herself comfortable on the short bench at the bedside and putting feminine touches into comfort for the patient – smoothing the cover, his hair, taking the little hand in hers.

"I understand you had some trouble with bandits," Arthur said, addressing the druid, beckoning for Cerdan to join him in the hall outside the physician's chambers. Merlin followed also, leaving the door half open and positioning himself where he could see Morgana at the boy's side.

"Yes, my lord." Cerdan gave a small bow.

"If you could tell me the details of the attack," Arthur continued. "Where and when, I can see to it that a patrol combs the area for your attackers."

"But your highness, we are only –"

"Reports of bandits must always be investigated," Arthur stated, in his best crown-prince demeanor. "Actually, if you could describe them to me, that might help. There are two outlaws in particular that we've been after for some time."

Cerdan glanced uneasily at Merlin, and he remembered the guilty reaction of the little boy to his elder's glib response. _There were no bandits, were there_? Merlin said telepathically. Cerdan turned his head slightly, lowering his gaze. Arthur looked from the druid to Merlin, eyes narrowed slightly. _They weren't knights_?

_No. Just guards_. That explained Cerdan's reluctance to enter the citadel with the boy alone.

_But Camelot's soldiers_? Merlin said to Arthur, who looked like he was about to stubbornly insist on a response. "Why don't I go with him, have a look at where they were? That way I can give you a more exact report."

Arthur hesitated, glancing between them again, then nodded. "I'll return at nightfall?" He pointed at Merlin to be sure he knew it was more order than request, and Merlin nodded acquiescence.

"I'll be here."

The prince turned to descend the stair at a jog. The druid looked through the open door to his young charge, now awake and giving attention to Morgana and the tray of food she'd brought, as Gaius busied himself at the cupboard in the corner with a clinking of glass vials. Morgana's back was turned to the bed as she reached to the tray on the corner of the table, and the boy said nothing aloud, but Cerdan and Merlin both heard the princess say clearly, "You're welcome, of course."

Cerdan's eyes widened as he turned to Merlin. "The princess has magic?"

Merlin motioned that they should take the stairs down also. _She has the abilities of a seer,_ he replied. _Further than that, we dare not test_.

_Of course – Uther's daughter. I'm sorry_, Cerdan said.

"Your charge," Merlin said aloud, "Does he speak at all?"

"Nothing but mind to mind," Cerdan answered. "I don't know if he can't speak, or if he's just too scared to."

"What happened to his parents?" Merlin said, rounding the corner to descend the second flight of stairs.

"It was six or seven years ago," Cerdan answered, and switched to telepathy for his next comment, _They resisted the command to move when soldiers found our camp_. Aloud he asked, "What will you tell Prince Arthur?"

"He deserves to know the truth." Merlin sent the older man a glance over his shoulder as they left the palace for the open courtyard where they could clearly see that they wouldn't be overheard. "Nothing can be done officially, but if I know Arthur, he'll find a way to make sure whoever is responsible knows it won't be tolerated."

"Thank you, Emrys."

"No, you'll have Arthur to thank. He's a good man, Cerdan, he's going to be a good king."

…..*…..

The druid's disinclination to discuss whatever incident had left the boy injured, and the glances he exchanged with Merlin did not escape Arthur's notice. It was not as simple as it looked. And because oversight of the patrol rotation schedule was part of Arthur's duties, he did a little creative research while he waited for his friend to return. He studied and cross-referenced the schedules for the past two days, to be on the safe side, checking and re-checking routes.

No one had reported any sign of bandits within a day's ride of Camelot in any direction. But Arthur wasn't happy with the implications of that.

He spent a good deal of the afternoon tracking down each and every guard or knight who'd been on patrol the previous day and, under the pretence of a surprise inspection, questioned each in an innocuous way about their activities during the patrol. Hating every minute that he suspected the druids had been victims of the abuse of a warrior loyal to Camelot.

It would be different when he was king.

Approaching the half-open door to Gaius' chambers, Arthur heard Merlin's voice. "Surely there are better things for us to talk about than that," the younger man said, with gentle exasperation. Arthur reached to push the door open further, and Merlin went on, exactly as if he were holding a conversation with someone already, "The battle of Dinas Emrys does not make for very good bedtime-story material."

Something held Arthur back. Who was he talking to about _that_? He flattened himself against the wall out of curiosity, and leaned slowly into the doorway to take in the interior of the chamber without himself being seen. Gaius was not present. Merlin sat behind the desk, one elbow next to an enormous medical volume, his head propped in his hand and his fingers threaded through his hair.

"No, it wasn't like that at all," Merlin said, then, tipping his head to look at – Arthur shifted slightly – the young druid boy, awake and staring avidly at Merlin from the patient bed. "Magic should never be used for fighting… No, do you not see the difference? For defense, not attack."

Arthur held his breath, fascinated. He and Merlin had only discussed their last experience at Dinas Emrys – the firing of the catapults, his near-fatal wound and the spectacular magic that had saved his life – once, briefly.

Merlin's fingers tightened around his fistful of hair. "It was not heroic," he said, very quietly but very intensely. "Is that how the elders tell that story? I lost control, I lost my temper, that should not have happened. There is always another way."

For a moment he stared at the boy, they stared at each other, and the silence was uncanny. Arthur was just about to clear his throat or shuffle his boots, announce his presence and break into that silence, when Merlin spoke again.

"Sometimes," Merlin's voice held the sorrow of a wisdom whose price had been heavy, "the only way you can protect someone is by the death of the one who is threatening – but that should always be the very last choice. I believe even the worst of us should have every chance to reconsider." Again the thick expectant silence. Merlin slammed the book shut and rose, shaking his head. "That is never a decision you should make on your own, you know. Listen to the elders, listen to your mentor. People you trust to help you make the right choices. Every situation is different…" Leaving the book on the desk, Merlin crossed to the bed to unstopper a tiny vial waiting on the corner of the table. "Come now, it's late and Prince Arthur will be here any minute. Gaius left this for you to take."

The boy made a face but tipped the vial to his lips. Arthur chose that moment to both clear his throat and scrape his boots, and pushed the door open to enter. Merlin looked up at him with a smile that told nothing of the serious subject he'd just been discussing with another druid boy.

"Well, speak of the devil," he said with cheerful impudence.

Arthur gave him a half-hearted glare. The boy watched him, completely expressionless. "How are you doing?" Arthur said, addressing him. "I hope you're feeling better."

"Morgana sat with him a long while," Merlin commented, leaving the bedside to join Arthur by the worktable. "She's quite taken with him," he added to Arthur alone, lowering his voice. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the table.

"You know why that is, don't you," Arthur retorted. At Merlin's puzzled look, Arthur nodded over his shoulder toward the patient bed, where the black-haired blue-eyed druid boy lay, blinking drowsily in the beginning effects of Gaius' medicine. "He reminds her of you."

Merlin huffed in a sort of wistful amusement. "Leon told me once that Morgana would try to adopt me," he said. "That won't work for this one any better than it worked for me."

Arthur snorted. "Now, what did the druid tell you about these _bandits_?" he asked. "They weren't bandits, were they."

"Arthur…"

"No, tell me," Arthur said determinedly. He was uncomfortably aware that Merlin had spent his first fourteen years in a druid camp, that this sort of thing would come as no surprise to him. But Arthur took it personally. "Whatever needs to be done, I'll take care of it."

…..*…..

Merlin was awakened several hours before it was light; someone said his name insistently. _Merlin_.

"What?" he muttered groggily. First he thought of the boy, but the voice was far older, deeper. "Gaius?"

_ No, young warlock._

Kilgarrah. Merlin fell back on the thin mattress and pillow of his bed. _You know it's the middle of the night, don't you_? he said crossly.

_Time is of little consequence when danger rises._

_ It's too early for riddles_! Merlin snapped back.

_ Very well, let me be blunt. You should not help this boy._

Merlin's eyes snapped open in the dark and both candles sparked to life simultaneously, flickering wild shadows around his room. _What? Why?_

_ You do not see how different he is from you? Like night to day._

_ Riddles again, Kilgarrah_, Merlin snarled. _You need to be more specific._

_ If this boy lives, you cannot fulfill your destiny. _

Merlin sat up, pushing his hand through his hair. "Hells, dragon, again with my destiny?" he muttered aloud. "It is _too early_ for this." _What does this boy have to do with me? I thought it was my destiny to protect and serve Arthur._

_ There is your answer._

As much as he resisted Kilgarrah's fondness for giving only cryptic glimpses of the future he professed to see more clearly than Merlin, he knew that he himself did not have that talent, not even so much as Morgana possessed. Kilgarrah had guided him into fulfillment of the prophecy at Dinas Emrys. He trusted that the great dragon was right… but Kilgarrah was an ancient creature of magic, and simply did not view an individual human life the same way that other humans did.

Merlin stood and stepped to his door, where there were several slivers of space between the planks bound together. He put his eye to one of them and gazed out into the main chamber, at the bit of black hair visible on the raised pillow of the patient's bed. _You're telling me that this little boy is going to kill Arthur? How can you – you can't know that for certain!_

_ You have it in your power to prevent a great evil._

_ A great evil, like allowing harm to a child? I will not be anyone's judge, Kilgarrah, do you hear me? No one deserves to be punished for something they have not yet done – the future is not set in stone!_

_ Heed my words, Merlin. My duty is to warn you, and so have I done. The rest is in your hands._

_ Fine. Warning received._

Silence. The candle flames wavered in the slow random dance of air currents. Merlin leaned against the door, still watching into the outer room. Gaius moved into view, his movements abrupt and hurried, his scowl drawn more deeply than usual.

Merlin didn't hesitate; he yanked his door open and descended to the main chamber. "What's the matter?" he asked.

Gaius spoke shortly. "Infection has set in."

"That fast?" Merlin said. "He was doing so well only a few hours ago."

Gaius shook his head. "I confess, I don't like it, Merlin. He is burning up…" Merlin rounded the patient's bed, finding the boy's body covered with damp cooling compresses. He laid the back of his fingers against the side of the unconscious boy's face – Gaius was right; he'd never felt such a high fever on anyone before. "I've prepared a bath."

"Right." Merlin scooped the druid boy up in his arms, wincing at the heat radiating from him, and turned to the large wooden tub, lined with towels to pad the child's body. He knelt and lowered the boy into the water, making sure to keep the bandaged limb dry, his own sleeves soaking well past his elbows. When he was sure that their patient would not slip below the water's surface, he pulled his arms back and began to roll his wet sleeves up out of the way.

Exposing the tattoo that matched the one inked on the inside of the boy's right wrist. He rubbed the small section of pattern copied on his forearm absently, wondering how this child's patterns would be similar to his, or different, when his time of training was complete.

_How different he is from you_, Kilgarrah had said. _He reminds her of you_, Arthur had said.

The boy had grown up in the druid camps without father or mother, not even the blessing that Hunith had been to Merlin. He was unique – and therefore probably fairly solitary - among the children for his ease of communicating mentally and his unwillingness to use any other form. He was eager to hear of Dinas Emrys and the role that another druid boy had played to win the battle and save the prince's life… maybe it was a boy's enthusiasm for heroics, but he'd seemed so impatient to hear Merlin describe how he'd fought those who attacked him with magic.

_If this boy lives… _

The young druid stirred, causing ripples in the water. He blinked at Merlin, but seemed unable to focus. _Emrys? Emrys, where are you?_

"I'm here," he said aloud. "Right next to you."

"What's he saying?" Gaius asked, discarding a book on the desk and reaching for another from his shelf.

_Help me, please – I'm scared, Emrys._

"He's asking for help." Merlin reached into the water to try to reassure him by physical contact, and alarm spiked in his heart at the perceptibly raised temperature of the water. "Gaius, the bath is doing no good. It's not cooling him down – his body is heating the water."

Gaius growled to himself. "I was afraid of that," he said. "Ah, here it is. Bring him back over here, please, Merlin." The boy's head lolled over his elbow as he gently lifted him from the water, their dripping clothes leaving puddles on the stone floor all the way back to the patient bed. The old physician checked the druid again, sighed, then turned the book around for Merlin to see the page. "You'll have to use magic," Gaius told him. "He is beyond my help."

For the infinite space of one heartbeat Merlin stared at his mentor's face. How had the dragon known?

_I don't want to die_. The voice sounded young and sick and scared. Merlin looked down at him, his eyes wide and blue and _aware_.

Merlin smiled, and spoke the spell.

…..*…..

Arthur accompanied Merlin and the young boy to the forest to meet with the clan elders. Merlin and Cerdan had decided the previous day that it was probably better that way, so the older druid would not have to re-enter Camelot. He'd dropped a few paces behind on the narrow trail, because he did not know where the druids had arranged to meet, and because it gave him a chance to study Merlin and the young stranger.

They could have been brothers, Arthur thought, they looked so alike with shaggy black hair and blue eyes, though Merlin wore no cloak, only his worn brown jacket. The child had spoken no audible word during his time in the city, that Arthur knew of - even as Gaius and Morgana wished him well, and Morgana had bent down to hug him - still the older boy glanced occasionally down at the younger with an expression of wry encouragement as they tread the path.

Finally they came to a bit of a clearing, a place where the trail opened up and the underbrush retreated, and both stopped, listening. Arthur stepped up to the boy's other side with a reassuring smile, and for the first time it was returned; the boy lifted his injured arm - seemingly without pain, but Arthur would not ask for details - to touch the hilt of the sword at Arthur's hip curiously.

Merlin was watching the opposite way, and before Arthur saw anyone, a wide grin broke out on the sorcerer's face. "Cerdan," he said downward to the boy, who promptly forgot about the prince and whirled to race for his mentor. The brown-cloaked druid smiled his gentle smile and returned the boy's enthusiastic greeting.

There was another druid with Cerdan, an older man with his hood down, his light hair full but wispy, appearing almost to float about his head. His expression matched – no, surpassed – the joyful welcome on Cerdan's face, as he came to Merlin.

"I should run to throw my arms about you as well, Iseldir," Merlin said, reaching out. The older druid clasped both Merlin's arms in response. "But I should knock you over, I think."

"Merlin," the druid elder responded. "It has been too long, boy."

"Arthur, this is Iseldir." Merlin included him by introduction and by the gleam of happiness in his blue eyes. "The elder of the clan I grew up in. Iseldir, Prince Arthur of Camelot."

"Hair of sun and gaze of sky indeed," Iseldir murmured. Arthur held out his hand but the druid elder ignored it to take him gently by the upper arms. "Becoming prince set all aright."

"He does try," Merlin murmured irreverently, and Arthur attempted to glare at him without offending the older druid.

"It is an honor to meet you, sire," Iseldir said. He seemed very like Gaius, if the old physician had ever in his life been mild and unassuming.

"You as well," Arthur answered.

"The clan would be thrilled to see you again, Merlin Emrys," Iseldir said, turning back to Merlin. He took Merlin's hand and pushed up his sleeve to run a critical gaze over the blackly swirled tattoos. "You've come of age since you left; you have a right to see those completed."

Merlin's smile was faintly ironic. "Maybe someday, Iseldir," he said, disengaging himself and covering the marks of his educational heritage with his sleeves.

"You are always welcome," Iseldir said, bowing slightly to the air between the two of them, and beginning to retreat to where Cerdan and the boy waited. "Both of you."

Arthur nodded in appreciation of the generous offer – he was the son of the Pendragon, after all, it took courage and faith for the elder to invite him to their camp. Merlin said, "I am glad _he_ will be with you," and the white-haired elder paused the briefest of moments to connect his gaze with Merlin's before nodding.

"Wait," Arthur called. "We don't even know his name."

The boy glanced up at Cerdan, then at Iseldir, who smiled and nodded to bid an answer to the request. He looked back at Arthur and gave him a smile oddly enigmatic for such a small boy. "Mordred," he said aloud, and switched his gaze to Merlin for a moment.

Merlin said, "Goodbye, Mordred. I shall look forward to that."

"Good luck," Arthur added. They stood a moment longer, watching the trio of cloaked druids fade into the shadows beneath the trees until they were out of sight, before turning their steps back to Camelot. "What did he mean about your coming of age?" Arthur asked, flicking a finger against Merlin's forearm. He thought he remembered the faintest echo of an explanation Merlin had once given him, a conversation held underground, during a distracted pause in their first quest together.

"Oh…" Merlin rubbed his arms absently. "Anyone who proves their magic and receives the initial mark and studies with the druids has the right to the coming-of-age trial, even if they leave the clans for a time. The elders could test my knowledge and ability and add to these any I'd earned since Dinas Emrys."

"Why don't you do that?" It wasn't a suggestion, but curiosity, on Arthur's part.

"My coming-of-age was last year." Merlin shrugged. "If I'd stayed a druid, I would have done it, but… I'm not, anymore. And I won't be, again."

Arthur remembered something the dragon had told him, once long ago. _He's more than a druid. He's more than a dragonlord._ He slung his arm around Merlin's shoulders.

"It's for the best, probably," he said. "By now, they might have run out of room to fit those tattoos on you – your arms may be long, but they're still nothing but skin and bone."

Merlin elbowed him in the ribs, and he yelped. "Yes, sire, you're absolutely right," Merlin said innocently. "Nothing but bones."

Arthur tightened his arm around the younger man's neck, pulling Merlin's head down to grind his knuckles against his skull. Merlin laughed and whined and broke free with an impish grin thrown over his shoulder – and Arthur gave chase.


	8. Excalibur

**IX. Excalibur**

"Are you all right?" Merlin asked.

He tread the corridor half a respectful step behind and to one side of Morgana, beginning to worry a little. Even the chaos of a crisis – the only reason that he'd been able to escort her back to her chamber this evening – couldn't catch her off guard and silent for long. But he supposed having her birthday feast interrupted by a stranger knight riding a horse straight through a window and throwing indiscriminate challenges-to-the-death wasn't a run-of-the-mill palace emergency.

Morgana tossed him a glance over her shoulder; her face was pale and her usual arch expression was subdued. "Are _you_ all right?" she returned.

He snorted. "My hands are still shaking," he admitted. Such a violent and shocking interruption had his magic leaping to the defense – but there was no threat for his magic to answer. No weapons had come flying too fast for ordinary defense; nothing had been thrown but a knight's gauntlet to the floor. No spells had been aimed, no magic done at all. Just the spoken terms of the duel.

"Do you think Owaine stands a chance?" Morgana asked, pausing on the lowest step of the curving staircase leading to her chambers.

"Arthur says he's very brave," Merlin said. "But this isn't training."

She turned, and the extra height the step gave her put her an inch or so taller than him. Her voice was so low as to be almost a whisper. "Is it terrible of me to be glad that Owaine beat Arthur to that gauntlet?" she said.

He couldn't speak. He was rather guilty of the same sense of relief, also. Stranger knights, even ones carrying the heaviest of grudges, did not enter the banquet hall mounted – and through a window. He simply shook his head slowly.

She tipped her head. "Do you know what Father was about to say to me?" she asked him. He frowned; surely such conversations were of little importance, now. She didn't expect his answer, and continued with only a slight pause, "He was about to tell me of Lord Agravaine's offer."

"Sorry, Lord Agravaine?" Merlin said.

She rolled her expressive green eyes. "Arthur's uncle on his mother's side. He's sent Father a letter every year on my birthday since I turned sixteen, asking for my hand in marriage."

"Arthur's _uncle_?" Merlin said, astonished.

"Father is required to present the request," Morgana said. "I'm allowed to refuse it, of course, and I always have, it's just…" She shook her head. "One of my least favorite parts of my birthday. When the rider smashed through that window… Merlin, I was glad not to hear that proposal again. And then I saw… and I thought…" She shivered.

"What is it?" he asked intently. He hadn't thought there was anything more to the stranger than the intentionally shocking entrance, the eerily anonymous challenge, but sometimes it was hard to distinguish between a natural reaction of fear and a specific warning from his magic.

"You should go to Arthur," she said. "I'll be fine, but…"

"Did you recognize the knight?" he questioned her.

She shook her head slowly, not answering his question in the negative, but as if denying what she'd suspected. "You should talk to Arthur," she said only.

…..*…..

Arthur stalked to his chambers, vaguely aware that Merlin had joined him at some point, and followed. Slamming through his door, he left it for the younger man to close behind them.

"What did they say?" Merlin asked. "Your father and Gaius?"

"Is Morgana all right?" Arthur returned, unbuckling his sword-belt.

"She was more worried about you, honestly," Merlin said, coming to take the sword from him as he freed it from his waist. Arthur could see the question all over his friend's face – _why_. Arthur shrugged out of his jacket, and Merlin took that too, to lay both neatly on the table as Arthur crossed to the open window.

"You saw the device upon the stranger's shield," Arthur said. A shadow moved, and Merlin was beside him at the window before he'd heard him.

"A white rampant phoenix on a black field," Merlin said. "Do you know him?"

"That was my uncle's crest," Arthur said, gazing blindly at the black blur of sky and forest beyond the torch-lit courtyard below. "My uncle Tristan de Bois, my mother's older brother."

"Why on earth would he come here to challenge anyone?" Merlin said.

Arthur swallowed. "He wouldn't. He was killed nearly three years ago in a border skirmish. Interred at his brother's estate – we were all there to witness the ceremony."

"I don't understand," Merlin said slowly.

He filled his lungs and let the breath out slowly. "My father and Gaius think the most likely explanation is that someone who knew that device is using it fraudulently, to dishearten and cause us fear. Or that some rogue knight with a grudge stole the shield from the crypt."

Merlin put out his hand to touch Arthur's shoulder. "You can't let it get to you, then," he said. "Remember your uncle as he was, and know that it has nothing to do with this stranger."

Arthur's lips twisted in an expression that was more grimace than grin. "I'm not the one fighting him," he reminded Merlin.

…..*…..

Arthur sat next his father, at the to-the-death match. Merlin stood just outside the tournament grounds, wondering if noon had been chosen for any particular reason. So neither combatant could take advantage of the position of the sun while they spun and shifted around one another? Was it merely symbolic? Or was it something more, something to do with magic?

The knight in black, who carried Tristan de Bois' shield and had yet to show his face, attacked Sir Owaine with swift ferocity, not giving the young knight a chance to launch his own attack, forcing him on the defensive. They moved so quickly and absorbed the attention of everyone watching so thoroughly that Merlin didn't hesitate more than a moment to use his magic to slow time by a single measure, that he might see every move each made, watch for trickery of the sort Knight Valiant had employed.

What he saw was Owaine's sword piercing the stranger's side. "_Yes_!" he shouted exultantly, his magic surging in his reaction to Sir Owaine's triumph as he raised both fists in the air.

The stranger kicked Owaine down – lifted his helmeted head as if he looked straight across the circle at Merlin – then brought his blade down in a death blow.

Merlin watched dazedly as the black knight postured, challenged. Watched without true understanding Uther holding the prince back from leaping to accept the gauntlet, watched Sir Pellinore take up the challenge without really recognizing him. And when the stranger stalked past the arena entrance where he and Gaius attended upon any call for the skills of a physician, Merlin found himself drawing back to avoid even the most casual brush of clothing with the man.

"Should we tend to his wounds?" Merlin said to Gaius, who quirked a questioning eyebrow. "He took a hit."

"Owaine didn't land a blow," Gaius objected.

"The sword definitely pierced him," Merlin said. And yet there was no blood, not the slightest hint of physical impairment.

"Are you sure?" Gaius' voice held a hint of warning, as though he knew that Merlin spoke on the assurance of his magic.

"My eyes are quicker than yours," Merlin said innocently. "But Gaius – he should be dead."

The old physician gazed across the packed earth to the fallen body of Sir Owaine; Pellinore, who had vaulted into the arena to accept the gauntlet, straightened from checking his fellow knight and shook his head; their services were no longer needed. Gaius said grimly, "Perhaps he already is." He took the sleeve of Merlin's jacket to lead him back to their chambers.

"What do you mean?" Merlin asked.

"The king was more prepared to believe the stranger a renegade set on twisted revenge," Gaius answered. "However, it seems to me that such a man with such a goal would want to proclaim his identity and declare his vengeance, rather than hiding behind the device of a dead man."

"But how could Lord Tristan –" Merlin started. "And why? I mean, he never had a quarrel with the Pendragons, did he?"

"Of course not," Gaius said. "He was Uther's brother-in-law, and faultlessly loyal." They climbed the stairs to the physician's chamber, and Gaius dropped his round case on the worktable, crossing to the bookshelf. "If you are correct about Owaine's blow finding its mark, and yet it had no affect upon the stranger knight, then it is my guess we may be dealing with a wraith, the spirit of Tristan de Bois conjured from the grave. We can't be sure until the crypt is checked, of course."

Merlin gazed down at the macabre sketch of a skeleton, upright and armed. "We don't have that kind of time," Merlin objected. "How far is it to Lord Agravaine's estate? A messenger could not return in time to stop Sir Pellinore from fighting him tomorrow." Gaius made a noise of grim assent. "So this is the work of a sorcerer? How do we stop it?"

"We can't." Gaius' forefinger tracked down the page. "Because it is not alive, no mortal weapon can kill it."

"There must be something," Merlin said. _No mortal weapon_ wasn't the same as _nothing_.

"Nothing can stop it until it has achieved what it came for," Gaius said. "Once the purpose instilled in it at its raising is complete, it will once again depart the land of the living."

"What's its purpose?" Merlin said, a sinking feeling surrounding his heart.

Gaius scowled. "We can only guess, of course," he said. "But it seems clear to me that the challenge has been made to the Pendragons, specifically."

How many more young knights, Merlin wondered with a sick feeling, would get between the spectre and the royals? "You have to tell Uther," he said. "It's not a fair fight, then, if no one is able to win against him."

"Yes," Gaius agreed somberly. "And perhaps you should check the library for any possible alternative."

…..*…..

Arthur was privately glad that his father had chosen to berate him in private, rather than on the tournament grounds in front of everyone. It gave him a few moments to collect his own temper, a few moments to process the loss of Sir Pellinore, a few moments to realize what he'd done. He'd never challenged anyone before, not to mortal combat.

"How could you be so _stupid_? No, I will revoke the challenge," the king hissed as he stalked into the room where Arthur had been sent to wait, his father's private dining room.

That word hit Arthur hard. Careless, maybe, reckless. But _stupid_? He straightened and spoke formally, "No. The Knights' Code must be upheld, you've told me that in no uncertain terms, before. Once the challenge has been laid down -"

"You are crown prince!" He'd rarely seen his father so agitated; oddly, it served to calm him.

"There cannot be one rule for me and one for all the rest," he said reasonably.

Uther's jaw clenched. "I forbid you to fight," he said harshly.

"You want me to prove I'm worthy of the throne," Arthur argued. How was it that his courage was questioned when he spoke against Knight Valiant as a valid opponent, and yet he was reprimanded for facing this nameless, faceless renegade? What was the difference? "I cannot do that by being a coward –"

"No, Arthur, this will be your death!" Uther insisted. "You don't understand…"

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, in the hardest voice he had ever used to speak to the king, already on his way to the door, "that you have so little faith in me, Father."

…..*…..

It was dark, and quiet. Merlin stood at the gateway in the wall that led to the grassy archery range. For the third night in a row, the black knight stood waiting. Merlin shivered, unable to repress a macabre curiosity as to what might be seen behind and inside the barrel-helm, if this creature was a wraith.

Everyone had seen Pellinore thrust his blade into the center of the black knight's chest. Gaius had told Uther their suspicions; whether the king believed his physician or not, he'd made the decision not to tell Arthur. The prince was stubborn, especially when his honor or courage was questioned; Gaius said Uther thought it better that Arthur believed the stranger to be a renegade with a stolen shield, rather than his uncle returned with murderous intent. And it was a complex situation – as it usually was when dealing with the reputations of the nobility. Even what he was doing tonight, testing his magic against the stranger, could be considered dishonorable according to the Knights' Code.

Damn the code, as far as Merlin was concerned. His honor, he felt, lay solely in the successful protection of Arthur's life. If that meant doing something others would find questionable, then so be it. If the stranger was an ordinary – though somewhat uncanny – knight, he'd be able to ascertain that from his reaction to Merlin's magic. And if a wraith, the same result – and against the spirit of a departed loved one, raised and aimed by enemy sorcery, any defense whatsoever was entirely honorable. His lips twisted – what he was doing wasn't so different, after all, than what Owaine and Pellinore both had done, to take up the trial in the prince's place, to guard him with the strength and skill that they possessed.

Wraith were raised with magic, sustained with magic. That was a challenge that Merlin would gladly take up for his prince.

He didn't have to think long about the spell he would use. Of course it would be the element that came most naturally to him, a symbol of cleansing, an illustration of the funeral pyre. "_Cume her fyrbryne_," he whispered, to start the spell of fire at his feet, sending it traveling in a line for the stranger, directing it to curve in a circle around him.

There was absolutely no reaction whatsoever. The thing was not human, not any longer.

Merlin focused, raising the flames to head height, concentrating them inward, directing the bonfire to consume the foul aberration. And for the first time in his life, the fire resisted obedience. It could not touch the figure. He held it a moment in indecision – trying harder would do no good, would only wear him out uselessly. But his secondary plan could not be accomplished here and now; he reluctantly released the fire, and it dwindled.

Only the thing's head moved, pivoted swiftly on its shoulders to face Merlin, and the shock and horror had him stumbling backwards, heart pounding, scrambling to get out of its line of sight. He didn't stop running until he reached Arthur's chamber.

…..*…..

Arthur avoided the window.

He gripped his sword firmly, stepping slowly and carefully through a variation of sword-forms in his chamber, around the table, past the chair, over the furred rug in front of the fireplace. It didn't occupy his mind, however, just served to ease his nerves and muscles that tended to tighten in restless apprehension.

This sword had been given him by Merlin, many years ago. Snatched almost thoughtlessly from the dragonlords' treasure hidden below the mount of Dinas Emrys to defend the druid boy that had become his friend, he'd wielded it in his first real fight-to-the-death. Since then the blacksmith had adjusted the connection of cross-guard to blade, and the hilt had been re-wrapped with leather and twisted wire.

He smoothly shifted his stance, both hands on that hilt keeping the sword steady and level as he slid his right foot forward. He wouldn't even entertain the consideration that it would be his last duel he'd be wielding the same sword in, tomorrow. After Morgana's visit – _I don't want you to fight tomorrow_ – he'd locked himself in. The black knight, for all his posturing and threatening theatrics, was a man, after all. Arthur would not allow the underhanded tactics of ghoulishly-minded strangers to put him at a disadvantage.

So he avoided the window that looked down on the archery range where his opponent waited, and he stepped methodically and calmly through his practice.

He didn't pause when the bolt on the door scraped itself open, when it creaked then thudded, when Merlin leaned against the inside to catch his breath. "You know that conversation we had about knocking?" he said evenly, without turning. "That includes using magic to unlock what I've locked."

"You should pull out," Merlin said. "He'll kill you."

Ye gods, even his best friend had no faith in him; he felt a black emptiness where his heart should be. "Why does everybody think that?" he said tiredly.

"Because they're right," Merlin said. "There's no good reason for these challenges to continue, and you're the crown prince. No one wants to see you die over some stupid minor point of the Knights' Code."

"_Stupid_," Arthur spat, dropping the sword and glaring at the former druid. "It's not stupid, Merlin. You don't understand at all what's required of me. I'm not a coward."

"I know that," Merlin said earnestly, pushing himself away from the door and rounding the table to come to Arthur's side. "I've stood there and watched you overcome every fear you've ever faced. But you are more than a warrior, you're a prince – a future king. You've proved your courage, Arthur, now you must prove your wisdom. There's something –"

Arthur slashed the air with more vehemence than before. His father's dubious opinion of his ability and judgment he'd dealt with before; Morgana's worry for his safety he'd dealt with before. But it was _Merlin_ trying to talk him out of the fight, and that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. "I'm not backing down," he stated firmly.

"Please, Arthur, listen to me – this is no ordinary knight." Merlin went to the window to look out, down into the courtyard; he knew exactly where the stranger was, also. Standing motionless in the courtyard below the prince's window, insidiously undermining his confidence. It was working, now that Merlin stood against him. "Look at him," the younger man demanded. "He doesn't eat, he doesn't sleep. He just stands there in complete silence. Doesn't that tell you something?"

Arthur swallowed, scowling to himself as he performed the three descending strikes from the right in quick succession. "No one is unbeatable," he declared, speaking mostly to himself.

"Listen to me – you'll die if you fight him without magic."

"Absolutely not!" Arthur let his voice rise with his anger. "You stay out of this, Merlin, you hear me?" He heard the younger man leave his place by the window to approach Arthur from behind.

"Arthur, I'm trying to warn you," his friend pleaded.

"No, I'm warning you!" he snapped, spinning about with his blade extended.

There was only an inch of air between the sharpened edge and Merlin's neck when he halted the movement, but Arthur's eyes remained on the younger man's face. Merlin was startled by the speed of the unexpected movement, but wholly unafraid that Arthur might hurt him, intentionally or otherwise.

"Wraith," Merlin said.

As an insult, it was decidedly odd, and completely lacking in vehemence. Arthur let the sword drop once again. "What?" he said.

"Your father and Gaius didn't want to tell you, they thought…" Merlin shook his head. "Doesn't matter. That – thing – down in the archery range, it is actually your uncle. Well, his spirit, resurrected and given purpose by an enemy sorcerer. You can't kill it until it fulfills its purpose."

Arthur stared at Merlin. His father hadn't told him, had let him believe the stranger just a vengeful rogue knight, because he knew that Arthur would not be able to fight his uncle to the death, evil purpose imbued by an enemy sorcerer notwithstanding. "What's its purpose?" he said.

"The gauntlet was thrown in front of the high table at Morgana's birthday feast," Merlin said. "It could have come for you or your father." He glanced distractedly to the side, "Or Morgana, I suppose, maybe all the Pendragons? but she wouldn't take up a knight's challenge…"

"Merlin," Arthur warned, impatient with his rambling.

"There's no way, really, of knowing," Merlin said. "Aside from letting it keep killing until it finishes and dissipates on its own." Arthur was rather grateful that Merlin kept using the word _it_. Not _him_. Not _Uncle_. "I know I wasn't raised to be able to understand the principles governing the Knights' Code," Merlin continued. "But it seems to me that if magic is protecting your opponent, you should be able to use it to protect yourself, also."

Arthur backed up a step and lowered himself onto the tabletop. "Do you have something in mind?" he said.

Merlin reached out to touch the pommel of the weapon still in Arthur's hand. "We make a weapon that will kill the dead."

Arthur stared into the sorcerer's earnest blue eyes. If what Merlin said was true, then nothing Arthur did would be good enough to best the black knight. But if he had such a weapon to use in the duel, it evened the odds between them again. If Arthur was defeated, it would be fairly – and if he managed to land a killing blow, it would be effective. "All right, then, Merlin," he said.

"If you trust me," Merlin said, "I want to take this back, just for tonight. Tomorrow morning, it'll be ready. And we'll be waiting for you on the field."

Arthur felt a smile try to pull his mouth sideways – the first that had come to him since Morgana's birthday feast had been interrupted. And hope. He held the sword out and Merlin took it with a graceful sort of awkwardness, turning to wrap it in the scrap of drapery that covered Arthur's table. Arthur moved the bowl of fruit out of his way, understanding that it would not do for the young man to be seen carrying Arthur's sword about the citadel, this time of night before Arthur's duel-to-the-death. Questions would be asked, especially if Arthur triumphed where Owaine and Pellinore had failed – through no fault of their own, Arthur now knew.

As Merlin tucked the wrapped weapon under his arm and pulled the bedchamber door open, Arthur said seriously, "Don't let my father catch you."

Blue eyes twinkled at him mischievously. "I never do."

…..*…..

Merlin yawned as he waited in the shadow of the arch. The noisy murmur of the crowd gathered to see the third duel of the mysterious and frightening black knight – and this time against one of the royals – rose behind him. The wraith itself was already on the ground, waiting motionless as ever, sword tip planted on the packed earth, hands on the hilt in the ever-readiness of the unnaturally untiring. Arthur, of course, would be the last out, the one whose presence would signal the start of proceedings.

He shifted his weight, cradling the dragonlords' sword in his arms – and how appropriate that seemed, now! _A weapon forged with my assistance will have great power_, Kilgarrah had warned him, and he could feel it, a low hum, very like the growl of a dragon far back in his throat, deep in his chest. Promising a fierce defense of kinfolk, and a wordless menace for those who meant harm. Merlin's eyes were half-closed as he listened and felt, the lack of sleep as well as the fascination of new magic catching him at this moment of inactivity.

And then, a point of awareness woke, and Merlin turned to see the approaching warrior – the billowing red cloak, the golden dragon emblazoned on the tunic.

But the build and the gait were all wrong. It was Uther Pendragon, not Arthur, come to face the wraith – who could only be defeated by the death of its intended target. If it had been aimed at the king, the defeat of each would secure the other's death.

Time seemed to slow, Merlin's heartbeat and the king's tread. He should have guessed that the old lion would rouse at the threat to his cub. And in Merlin's arms, the only chance any man would have against the black knight. If it had come for Arthur, Uther's death would be in vain, and Arthur would face it with his father's death fresh and heavy on his heart.

_It must be wielded by Arthur and him alone_. Uther had not seen Merlin yet, he could take half a step back, and with a wisp of wordless magic conceal his presence altogether. He understood that he must not offer the weapon to another – _any_ other – _in the wrong hands, this sword could do great evil_. And yet, at this moment in time, the saving of Uther Pendragon was again in Merlin's hands. Literally.

He decided… not to decide.

He simply stood where he was, head bowed at a slight but respectful angle. And waited. The hilt seemed to gleam at the corner of his eye, nestled in the hollow of his right shoulder, though he stood in shadow, the magic in the blade stirring enigmatically.

The king's footsteps slowed. Stopped. Merlin could see the corner of the red cloak, its folds tucked behind the sword already in the belt as Uther reached to run one finger down the core of the blade in Merlin's arms. He shivered at the gesture.

"That's a fine blade," Uther said. "It's Arthur's, isn't it – he won't be needing it today."

According to the Code, Arthur was the one who issued the challenge, Arthur should be the one who fought. But Merlin knew that Uther was used to re-interpreting the law to suit himself, and wondered briefly what had been said or done to Arthur to prevent his coming.

Uther drew the weapon at his side and reached with the assurance of ultimate authority to exchange it for Arthur's, his eyes and attention on the dragonlords' blade rather that the one holding it; Merlin wondered whether the king had actually recognized him. He said nothing, either to discourage or permit, and didn't prevent the king's action. He wouldn't try to talk Uther into using a blade doomed to fail, and if it was his promise to Kilgarrah broken, then he would deal with that later.

The king continued to examine his son's sword, perhaps noting the changes, perhaps sensing the power. "It's worthy of a king," he murmured, as if to himself. "It has almost perfect balance. Though it's likely to make little difference."

He almost certainly had not recognized Merlin. Or at least the possibilities suggested by the prince's blade in a sorcerer's possession did not occur to Uther. He took one step toward the arena – Merlin did not know whether to feel despair or hope – and paused to look at Merlin with a sharp clarity in his hard gray eyes.

"My son trusts you," he said. "I don't pretend to understand it… Look after him."

Merlin's mouth almost dropped open. Uther believed he was going to his death in an attempt to protect his son – his words had the weight of a last will and testament, charging the sorcerer with the responsibility of the next king's safety. He said solemnly, "I intend to, sire."

Uther nodded, firming his grip on the dragon-breathed blade, and stepped into the sunlight of the arena.

…..*…..

Arthur was angry, as he stalked toward his father's chamber. He was _furious_. If he'd been Merlin, he thought, sparks would have been shooting from his fingertips all the way down the hall. Angry, red sparks.

If he'd been cool enough to collect his thoughts, he might have walked more slowly. He had no clear idea where he was even to begin, or what he would say. The sleeping potion… the locked door… the pre-empted challenge… his father _risking_ his _life_! And then – whatever random chance had placed the life-saving weapon in the king's hands.

He plowed around the corner and nearly ran Merlin down, hovering uneasily outside the king's chamber door.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded in a whisper.

"I don't know," Merlin said in the same tone. "I was waiting for you – and he came instead."

"And you gave him my sword?" Arthur was relieved rather than angry, just wanted to make sure of the story.

"He took it." There was conflict in the blue of Merlin's eyes. "Arthur – he wasn't supposed to."

"It saved his life, didn't it? Whatever you did to it worked."

"Yes, but – he _wasn't supposed to_. You don't understand – it's not _just a sword_, anymore. It's _your_ sword, it shouldn't be in anyone else's hands." The same words coming from someone else would sound rather childishly superstitious, but from Merlin, it send a cold frisson down Arthur's back, cooling his ire somewhat. "And your father… he hasn't put it down again. In the wrong hands…"

Arthur stared at Merlin, saw apprehension there in the normally fearless sorcerer. Merlin honestly had no idea what effect the sword – whatever magic had been done to it to allow it to kill the undead – might have on the king. Or what effect the former warlord might have on the land, with such a sword in his possession. "I'll get it back," he promised Merlin.

Merlin shook his head slowly. "It might not be enough," he said. "Your father knows it's yours, he can simply demand that you allow him the use of it."

He'd once said to Merlin, _you should have it back_. In the hidden treasure chamber below Dinas Emrys, on the eve of the battle that nearly claimed his life. And Merlin had gifted the blade to him, immediately and without second thought. As he always gave everything. Arthur said deliberately, "You should have it back. Put it somewhere safe, somewhere hidden."

Merlin met his gaze, and understood.

Arthur passed him, pushing both double doors open to enter his father's antechamber. The king rested on the top of the table in his own chamber as Gaius repacked his medical kit – hastily and guiltily, Arthur thought – the dragonlords' sword in his hand, yet.

"You had Gaius drug me," Arthur said accusingly. The old physician bowed to the king, murmured his excuses, and hurried from the room without meeting Arthur's eyes. That was unnecessary; Arthur bore him no ill-will whatsoever, even for the deceptive words that had resulted in Arthur drinking the potion the previous evening. He strode closer. "I was meant to fight – the Knights' Code –"

The king straightened, facing him. "Be damned," he said forcefully, right to Arthur's face. "I believed you would die, and that was a risk I could not take - you are too precious to me." Arthur was shocked speechless. The Pendragons never showed emotion, never. "You mean more to me than anything I know – more than this entire kingdom, and certainly more than my own life."

The last time they'd spoken, his father had called him _stupid_. Arthur realized that it was not a cool judgment of his inadequacy; he glimpsed the fear of loss that had prompted Uther's outburst. He said, awkwardly startled into a confused honesty of his own, "I've always thought that… that I was a big disappointment to you."

His father was shocked also, he could see that in the flinty gray eyes. "That is my fault, and not yours. You are my only son," he laid his hand on Arthur's shoulder in a rare and secretly coveted show of affection, "and I wouldn't wish for another." The king turned away first, stepped away, and Arthur's eyes fell on the sword on the table.

It was his – but not the same. His fingers trembled as he took it smoothly by the crossguard, lifting it silently, shielding it with his body as he retreated to the door. It warmed to him; it more than belonged to him, now, it _answered_ to him. "Congratulations on your victory, Father," he said as he fumbled for the door-latch behind him.

"Yes, it was the most _bizarre_ –"

But Arthur was out in the hallway, closing the doors behind him, jerking his head as an invitation for Merlin to follow. He passed the sword to the only remaining descendent of whatever unknown dragonlord had originally possessed the weapon, and Merlin clutched the hilt over his heart as they hurried down the corridor.

"That wasn't all," Merlin said breathlessly. Arthur glanced at him; with the sword-that-was-more-than-a-sword once more in his hands, the sorcerer's uncertainty had firmed once again to a pale determination. "She was there, I saw her. At your father's combat. Cara… Nimueh."

"The High Priestess?" Arthur said, so distracted he almost tripped. "Why would she – it was _her_, wasn't it? Who brought my uncle's spirit back to attack us?" Merlin nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. "What the hell, Merlin? What can she possibly gain from this antagonism with Camelot?"

"Gaius says, she doesn't like to lose," Merlin said in a low voice.

What neither of them said, and what the sorcerer was thinking just as clearly as he was, Arthur guessed, was the question of _how much more_, before a reactive defense was no longer enough. It was a king's decision to go to war, a decision he did not feel ready for. Another glance at Merlin told Arthur that the younger man hesitated over his thoughts as well.

"I might not see you again today," Merlin said, then, almost visibly shaking himself free of their shared gloom. "If it's late when I get back."

"Well," Arthur affected to yawn and stretch. "I won't wait up for you."

"Haven't you gotten enough of sleeping in?" Merlin ducked Arthur's swipe at him and grinned, beginning to lope down an adjoining hall. "You know where this'll be if ever you need it," he said in parting.

Arthur did. "Say hello to Kilgarrah for me," he called after his friend.

…..*…..

Merlin grimaced as he approached the mouth of the cave, already in shadow on the northern face of Dinas Emrys though it was only late afternoon. _Say hello to Kilgarrah_; it was easy for Arthur to say. He hadn't twice now deliberately disregarded the old dragon's words.

He'd told Aithusa the gist of the story as the white dragon had flown him the better part of two days' ride north in a matter of hours. Aithusa had chosen to wait some distance from the cave, settling his wings delicately behind him; he was big as a house now, strong and agile. Dragons matured mentally at a rate about three times that of humans, but Aithusa was still _young_. Merlin rather wished he didn't have to come to the cave, himself. But there was no better place for the unique weapon he carried.

Dragon_lord_, he reminded himself. Unfortunately, it didn't help when Kilgarrah's ire was earned.

"The sword was born of the old magic, lordling!" The great dragon all but exhaled fire at him. The glare of his golden eyes was just as fiery, his great talons shredding rock as easily as Merlin might shred a stem of grass, and just as thoughtlessly. "You have no idea of its power!"

"I have some," Merlin objected, then took a step closer and looked up at the oldest of his kin. Of course Kilgarrah would see right through the flattery, but he said with a smile anyway, "It worked – it was incredible, _amazing_."

"Of course it was!" Kilgarrah spat. "And now, what? that you've thrown my caution to the wind and given the weapon forged with my power to another's hand, that you've broken the promise you made –"

"To save the king's life," Merlin pointed out, and Kilgarrah gave a smoky snort.

"The warlord deserves none of my aid, and it will not happen again," he warned Merlin. He settled somewhat and crooked one talon to indicate the wrapped blade in Merlin's grasp. "You would have me destroy it, now?"

Merlin shook his head slowly. "You know as well as I, what is made cannot be unmade."

"Then place it where no man may take it up again."

"That's what I've come to do," Merlin told Kilgarrah, feeling chastened but still slightly rebellious. "I'm putting it back." He gestured with the hilt toward the hidden doorway of the treasure chamber.

"I'll not be responsible for it," Kilgarrah warned him, and he hesitated, remembering Arthur's warning. The cave was the lair of the great dragon, but that didn't mean he was always present. And tales of dragons and treasure naturally went together. It wasn't altogether impossible that someone could…

Merlin closed his eyes, reaching out with his magic, relaxing himself and listening to the low murmur of answering magic in the world around him, waiting for inspiration, beginning to wander through the cave. Arthur, he knew, had not been back to Dinas Emrys since the battle. He himself had not only come here, but stayed here, more times than he could count, curling on the dusty floor beneath the shelter of Aithusa's wing as they fell asleep listening to Kilgarrah's lectures or only the rumblings sounds of his great slumbering breaths. It was as familiar to him as the cabin he'd lived in with his mother in Ealdor; he rather regretted having no time on this trip to pay her a visit.

Something murmured to him at the back of his mind, and he kicked his toes into one of the fallen boulders in the mouth of the cave. He opened his eyes and looked down at the mottled craggy gray, no different than two dozen other chunks broken and crumbled when he and Kilgarrah had unsealed the tunnel to release the dragons from their four-decades-long sleep.

He knelt on the dusty floor and pushed against the rock, just over knee-high and roughly round, managing to roll it far enough to expose the base it had rested upon. Then laughed softly, incredulously, shaking his head at himself for not realizing before now – though why he would ever have had a reason to explore the cave with his magic before now, he didn't know. There on the hidden underside of the boulder was the dark pattern of the druid symbol, the edges obliterated but the center intact.

His own handprint in the dark red-brown of old blood. And the tiny spot in the center where his dragon pendant had formed a barrier between the blood and the marked stone. Merlin placed his hand against the mark, amused to see how his hands had grown since that day.

"Forty years, Merlin." He turned to see Kilgarrah watching him. He still had trouble reading draconic facial expressions, but the sense of the creature was that of patient resignation. "I had forgotten how impetuous humans can be. How feelings and instincts sometimes overrode reason and prudence. Small one, you resist destiny more strongly than your forebears… and yet, your magic is unequaled. I wonder…" The great dragon sighed. "Never before in my dealings with dragonlords have I ever doubted the revelations of the future."

"I'm sorry," Merlin said uncertainly. "I didn't mean to…"

"Sometimes," Kilgarrah said, unfurling his wings and rising to pass over and beside Merlin to the mouth of the cave, "sometimes, young warlock, destiny is indeed set in stone." With one great leap, and a buffet of wind that ruffled Merlin's hair and raised dust to his eyes, Kilgarrah soared over the treetops to the north.

He stood a moment, trying to decide whether the dragon was still exasperated, proud, or what. Then he looked down at the boulder, lifting it with the ease of thought to hover along behind him as he made his way into the treasure chamber. It was quiet and peaceful here, undisturbed – he didn't often enter the room, even when he came to the dragon's cave. He let the boulder settle into the middle of the floor, the dark druidic swirl and his own handprint uppermost. He unwrapped Arthur's sword and set the tip into the tiny clear space of clean gray stone, and pushed, feeling his magic guide the blade into the rock, feeling it lock into place.

And there it would stay until his prince had need of it again.


	9. A Moment in Ealdor

**X. A Moment in Ealdor**

"I don't think you should go," Arthur said. Merlin's assessment of his opinion was an eloquent snort.

They were on the outer parapet of one of the citadel's towers, watching as the sun went down in the west. Arthur was seated sideways in one of the breaks of the crenellation, with his back to the stone, one leg drawn up and the other left dangling to the inside.

Merlin leaned on his chest over the break, gripping his elbows and staring toward the horizon with an unusually inscrutable expression. His knuckles were white and his jaw was set, still; Arthur had noticed those details almost as soon as he'd entered Gaius' chambers earlier – for what, he no longer remembered – to find the younger man halfway through packing. Not that he blamed Merlin – the bruise on Hunith's face and the sadness in her eyes as she watched her son's preparations was enough to have him clenching his own fists and demanding to know what had happened.

"Listen, Merlin," Arthur tried again. He'd meant to wait until Merlin's temper –so seldom seen and all the more terrible for the rarity – cooled. "You and I have enemies. Fair or not, earned or not, still it's a fact. And our positions pretty much guarantee that won't change, through our lives." So much he had learned from Geoffrey, his father, even Gaius on occasion. History bore that out – men in positions of power, no matter how honest or compassionate, attracted the enmity of lesser men. Or women, as the case might be. "We're not anonymous. The prince of Camelot and his sorcerer – even people who've never seen us before in their lives know what we look like."

Merlin gave a tired kind of sigh. "What's your point, Arthur?"

"Everyone knows by now that you protect Camelot and the Pendragons," Arthur said. "But Ealdor… is different. It's too far away for us to defend like Camelot. If someone like Kanen attacks, it's two days before we get word, and another two days before we arrive. Merlin, if you go, our enemies will know that they can use Ealdor to get to you. And they will."

Merlin pushed upright, but kept his eyes on the distant darkening landscape. "Your solution is to let the bandit take the village now, that none may attack it in the future?" he said flatly. "If that's what you've learned of strategy, I confess I'm rather disappointed."

Arthur shifted his weight, drummed his fingers on the stone. "I've learned that a commander must pick his battles wisely, with his head and not with his heart."

Merlin's smile did not reach his eyes. "I am no one's commander but myself," he reminded Arthur softly.

"And… I know you've already chosen to fight this one," Arthur admitted.

The younger man softened somewhat. "She's my mother," he said. "It's my home."

"I know." Arthur let the pause lengthen. "Only – I have this picture in my mind of you standing before your little village and a horde of raiders riding hell-for-leather right down on you –"

Merlin chuckled, and if it sounded a little darker than was normal for him, well, that was understandable. "Let them come," he said.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Did you wonder why I said, don't take the request to Uther?" he said.

Merlin looked at him then, cocking his head. "I thought you meant… it wouldn't do any good, he wouldn't send anyone to defend _my_ hometown – or one outside Camelot's borders – or that he'd take any excuse to go to war with Cenred, and send the whole army."

"Nothing so noble." Arthur grinned at him. "If my father knew of the threat to your home, I'd find myself under lock and key to prevent my going with you."

Merlin searched his eyes. "You mean to come?" he said, surprised. "But what about all that about I shouldn't go?"

"You shouldn't. I shouldn't. Not openly and publicly." Arthur lifted one eyebrow at his friend, and Merlin made a quiet _Ah_! sound. "You've heard the saying, give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day?"

"Teach him to fish, and he'll eat for a lifetime," Merlin finished, his face twisting in giving Arthur an amused smile and a grimace of incomprehension. "And what does fishing have to do with Ealdor?"

"I have a plan," Arthur said. "If we can conceal our presence there, if we can teach your villagers to defend themselves successfully, then you don't have to worry about your home being a target for your enemies."

"Why," Merlin said, his grin wide and genuine, "didn't you lead with that?"

…..*…..

Twilight was long gone. The little campfire had subsided to an orange-red smolder; no more kindling was needed, really, though summer was just over, the nights were pleasantly cool. Their blankets and the warm glow of the coals would be sufficient. But Merlin perched on his end of the fallen log they'd used for a seating convenience, snapping sticks, one after another.

Arthur had his own stick, drawing diagrams of Ealdor in the earth. Twice he'd brushed away his work, already, and spoke occasionally, absently. Questions like, how many men? What's the distance to the treeline on the south? How close does the river come? Other details, Merlin assumed, would be assimilated into Arthur's plans once they arrived and he could survey the village himself.

Something brushed against Merlin's consciousness, and he lifted his head. Some warning from his magic, not of danger, but of… presence. "What is it?" Hunith asked from the other end of the log.

"Probably nothing," he answered, unfolding himself from his crouch and stepping to the edge of the firelight.

"Scream if you need me," Arthur murmured vaguely.

Merlin made a face at the top of the prince's head, and moved into the darkness, alert to possibilities. It could be a curious family of possums, or the high priestess bent upon their deaths. Or anything in between. He heard nothing, he saw little more. But someone, or something, was out there. Was watching, and the closer he came, the further behind he left his companions, the stronger the sense of quiescent magic.

He had only a moment to realize the identity of the one he sensed, and straighten, dropping his guard with a grin to himself, when Morgana said from behind him, "I'd ask you for money, but I know you don't have any."

"You should not be here," he said, turning.

In the darkness, she was no more than a shadow more solid than the others, but he could hear the smirk in her voice. "You need all the help you can get, you and Arthur both."

She flitted away, less careful now about the noise she made, and he detected the sound of her horse being led toward their camp. "You know your father is going to skin me alive, when he finds out," Merlin said. "A hunting trip he could believe, for Arthur and me, but both of you?"

Morgana affected to cough. "I'm sick in bed," she said. "Highly contagious, I can't have visitors for several days."

"It won't make any difference to the bandits that you're a woman," he told her.

She laughed softly. "Good. Ask Arthur sometime about how I used to beat him, sparring."

Through the trees they could see Arthur, standing now to face them, his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. With his back to the glow of the coals, they couldn't see his expression, but his reaction was clear enough by the tone of his voice. "Morgana."

"You should get some rest, you know," the princess told her half-brother, completely unrepentant. "It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

…..*…..

It was approaching sunset the next day, when they came out of the trees to the village's farthest fields. They'd avoided notice from other travelers, and Arthur believed the people of Ealdor could be persuaded to the wisdom of his plan of secrecy. That left only the bandits to recognize them and carry the tale.

He reined in, putting a moment's distance between himself and Merlin in the lead, Hunith following on the most sedate mare Arthur could procure.

"What's the matter?" Morgana said, her mount's head even with his knee.

Instead of glancing back at her, he kept his eyes on his friend and his mother, Merlin's body loose in the saddle after spending nearly seven months in Camelot with a prince who lived the life of a privileged outdoorsman as often as possible, Hunith still shy and tense on horseback. Merlin glancing back to his mother with loving solicitation – Arthur could see his friend as Hunith no doubt saw him, her sweet and innocent young son. And beyond them, the hamlet of Ealdor, ordinary and innocuous, nothing to set it apart from half a hundred throughout Camelot – or Albion, for that matter. Nothing to mark it as the hometown of a powerful sorcerer and a young dragon. Nothing to show the looming threat of forty horsemen.

"I'm worried about him," Arthur told his sister.

For once she took him seriously. "Why?" she said. "He's perfectly capable of defending himself - and the rest of us, probably."

Arthur shook his head. "That's what worries me," he said. "In this fight, if the bandits persist, we can't take prisoners. This land isn't subject to Camelot's laws, even if there was some way we could manage to march them home. And just fighting them off… I don't know if that's enough. Our purpose is to see that Ealdor can defend itself, but if we kill a handful, what then? Kanen takes the rest of his band to the next village?"

"So we make sure that Kanen isn't able to do that," Morgana said, determined as only a king's daughter can be. "Ever again."

Arthur had already decided that. Come hell or high water, Kanen was _his_ – though he admitted ruefully, he'd probably have to beat Merlin to the man who'd bruised his mother. "And the rest?" he said. "Without leadership, you can expect them to fight each other to a certain extent, for them to disband – but two dozen outlaws roaming the land in threes and fours –"

"Arthur," Morgana said quietly, as her mare shifted weight impatiently, "this isn't our land. It's Cenred's problem. If they cross the border…"

He felt uneasily as he had after leaving Camelot's fort for Dinas Emrys. That somehow - though he wouldn't change anything he'd done since opening Gaius' door to learn of the threat to Merlin's village – he'd made the wrong choice, somewhere.

They made their slow way down the one central track of Ealdor, drawing attention for the horses they rode, recognition for the two in the lead – and possibly even more for the accurately-guessed identity of Arthur and Morgana, also. Merlin chose the place to halt and dismount, and waited as his neighbors slowly gathered, murmuring and curious.

One man stepped forward, taking charge in the meekest manner Arthur had ever seen, hardly daring to raise his eyes to theirs. "Hunith?" he questioned.

"Matthew," she responded. "This is –"

"Merlin Emrys," a voice drawled from the back of the crowd, and a young peasant man stepped forward, brown hair shaggy and sun-bleached, face ruddy, eyes sharp. "Riding a horse, instead of a dragon – whoever thought to see the like?"

Merlin's face gave nothing away; he watched the other's approach narrowly, hands on his hips. Arthur tensed for a fight, or at least an argument; his hand twitched toward his hilt as both reached for each other – and thumped each other's back in a hearty embrace. "Missed you too, Will," Merlin told him, grin splitting his face.

Arthur relaxed, until the other young man turned to him, his answering smile of greeting cooling noticeably. "And who the hell are you?" Will said clearly.

Several people hissed their disapproval of his insolence. Arthur took a step closer and said evenly, "I think you know."

"Prince Arthur of Camelot," Will continued in a mocking tone, shrugging Merlin's hand off. "To hear Merlin tell it, you should be seven feet tall and able to shoot lightning bolts out your –"

"William!" Merlin snapped, eyes stormy.

Will turned to the young sorcerer. "We don't need him," he said clearly, and turned on his heel, shoving his way through the crowd.

The tips of Merlin's ears were red. "I'll talk to him," he muttered to Arthur, and followed.

It didn't escape Arthur's notice, the way the villagers watched the young dragonlord lope after his friend. And the way they turned back to him, with varying degrees of uncertainty and hope. "I know Kanen's kind," he said, pitching his voice to carry to everyone present. "He'll be back, and again and again. If you give him what he wants, those of you who don't starve to death will face him again next harvest, and the harvest after that."

The man Hunith had addressed as Matthew gestured after Merlin's lanky figure. "But Merlin –"

Arthur hoped his friend was out of earshot. "Merlin cannot always be here for you," he said.

"But the dragons won't do anything for us without him," Matthew added plaintively.

"Which is why you must prepare to face Kanen – and his like – yourselves," Arthur said. To forestall the protests, he raised his hand. "You can be ready for him, you can outsmart him. You can fight – I'll train you. How much time do we have?"

"He gave us one more day," Matthew answered, still doubtful, "to gather the grain and produce he's demanded."

One day wasn't much. "It'll do," Arthur decided. "Listen – men like Kanen, they fight only to steal and kill. You fight for your homes, for the safety and provision of your family and friends. This is yours! Each foot of land, each person who lives here, each ounce of food – you've worked hard to raise and earn, and you should be proud of that. Don't let him take it from you – don't let anyone take it from you, ever." He looked around, meeting their gazes. Peasants who'd look a prince in the eyes; he smiled, recognizing part of what made Merlin so unique. "We'll start early," he said, and most of the men nodded in response. Some of the women, too – that was fine with him, Morgana could teach those able-bodied and willing to fight.

…..*…..

Will didn't turn at the sound of Merlin's voice, but left the door of his hut ajar. Merlin followed him inside, leaning against one of the roof's support posts as his friend began to busy his hands, moving one dish from the wash-bench to the table and another back again. It didn't fool Merlin, he knew that since the death of Will's mother two winters ago, his friend hadn't bothered much with housekeeping.

"You can trust Arthur," he said. "He knows what he's doing. He'll make this work."

Will snorted. "And when it doesn't, who do you think will be first in retreat? Who do you think will be left to fall? I guarantee you it won't be him."

Merlin came closer, leaned over the table. "Why are you being like this?" he said softly. "Arthur came to help."

Will's brown eyes glittered at him in the light of the single candle. "We don't need him," he reminded Merlin again. "We were safe enough with you and Aithusa here. You could defeat Kanen on your own, wouldn't you? What's stopping you?" Merlin dropped his gaze, rubbed his forehead. _Could_ and _should_ weren't the same thing. "I don't expect you to understand," he said. Though he was the son of a knight, Will had never fought in battle the way Arthur had. He'd never killed.

"Try me!" Will flared angrily. "What else would magic be for, if not to protect your friends and family?"

He couldn't get the words out of his head, as he stalked back down the street, slipped into his house. Morgana was helping Hunith with dinner preparations, Arthur sitting expectantly at the table. Merlin dropped down on the bench opposite him, avoiding his eyes.

"Will's father was one of the knights killed at Dinas Emrys," Merlin said shortly to the prince, and the expression in Arthur's eyes changed to understanding. "He doesn't trust any of the nobility."

"Will they listen to him?" Arthur asked intently; they needed everyone to be of the same mind for this venture to work. Merlin smiled to reassure him – a young commander once again picking his battle with his heart.

"No, he's always been a troublemaker," Merlin said. Behind him, Hunith snorted and Morgana snickered, and Arthur lifted his gaze over Merlin's shoulder.

"Let me guess," Arthur said, heavily ironic, "that's why the two of you were friends?"

Merlin shrugged noncommittally. "They're used to ignoring him."

"These men aren't soldiers," Arthur said, addressing all three of them, though the women kept working. "I can't make them soldiers in a day. They haven't the skill or the weaponry needed to face forty armed men." Merlin watched the prince gaze into the air. "His two advantages," Arthur added slowly, "are in how many men he has, and that they're mounted. We find a way to counteract that, to make it work against him – limit his mobility and draw him into a trap - then we'll have a chance."

"More than a chance," Merlin told him. "We're going to win."

…..*…..

All day, Arthur watched.

He watched the men, practicing the basics of sword-fighting - the stance, how to parry and how to recognize a feint, how to land a blow. Watched farmers wielding sticks with the single-mindedness of a knight-hopeful completing his final testing, and the skill of a new squire.

He watched Morgana with the women, organizing weapons and any implements that could be so used, awkwardly attempting to copy the men's training. Their determination as great, if not greater, than that of their men.

He watched Merlin heading for the trees alone with an ax on his shoulder, his ungainly stride familiar and easy, but his head down.

"Where's he going with that thing?" someone said scornfully behind Arthur.

He wasn't surprised to see Merlin's friend Will when he turned. "What does it look like?" he said. "We need wood to set up the ambush."

Will's brown eyes met Arthur's defiantly. "We both know he doesn't need an ax to fell a tree."

Arthur stopped his smile. More than once he'd pushed his way into Gaius' chamber, or the inner bedroom that was the young sorcerer's private sanctum, to find Merlin on hands and knees scrubbing, pricking his fingers with needles, occupied with menial tasks of every kind. _Just because I can do it with magic_, the younger man had tried to explain, _doesn't mean I have to. At least, not every time_. And this time, Arthur rather thought, Merlin was using the physical labor as Arthur himself used a training dummy.

But the young peasant was evidently not through antagonizing Arthur. He gestured to his neighbors, taking a breather for water and a moment's rest of weary and sore muscles. "It looks like the battle's already fought and lost," he observed snidely.

"They'll toughen up," Arthur answered mildly.

"They'll need to!" Will shot back. "You're treating them like your personal army – you going to order them to battle? You going to count casualties and consider them an acceptable loss? Anything for a victory, isn't that so? What gives you the right to tell Merlin when and how he can use his magic?"

_No magic without your permission_. "Nothing," Arthur said. "And I don't."

"Then what the hell is all this?" Will snarled, gesturing at the other villagers. "Tomorrow Kanen will attack, and you want _us_ to fight?"

Late the previous night, Arthur had rolled over on the floor of Hunith's hut, pulling his blanket closer about him. Voices had pulled him from his sleep, the voices of mother and son, seated next to each other on the bench before the fire. Hunith was apologizing for coming to Merlin for help. _I know what you're planning to do_, she'd said. And her son hadn't disagreed.

"You want Merlin to fight?" Arthur said, keeping his voice low, but starting to lose his temper. "To fight for you, for everyone? To be responsible for the death of three dozen men? You would wish _your friend_ to carry a burden like that for the rest of his life?"

Will's mouth dropped open, as if he'd not considered that. But only briefly, before the young man shut all emotion away behind a surly mask. "He should never have left," he spat.

Arthur found a surprising corner of sympathy for the other man in his heart – how would he feel if Merlin left Camelot to form a friendship and a loyalty to someone else? "He could never have stayed," Arthur said.

"Arthur?" Merlin said, from behind Will, as he bent to unload the bundle of six-foot rough-cut branches from his shoulder. "I've got another lot to carry in, but if you need them faster, I can –" He straightened, recognizing the tension.

Will turned from Arthur to step next to Merlin. "He needs," he said, his voice trembling with anger. "_He_ needs. Damn him, and the horse he rode in on."

"Will," Merlin began, and his friend cut him off.

"Don't bother, Merlin, I'm not interested." He turned away from both of them, and Arthur realized the fact of the lumpy pack and bedroll on his back at the same time that Merlin did.

"You're leaving?" Merlin said, and an edge of disapproval entered his voice. "You're going to abandon us?"

Will rounded on him. "What, like you did?"

Arthur hissed, and Merlin pulled back from Will almost imperceptibly. "I'm here now," he said evenly.

"Yeah, yeah you are for all the good you'll do!" the other snapped. He might have said more, but the sound of hoof-beats interrupted.

Arthur whirled, for one anxious moment thinking that Kanen had changed his mind and come early. Then he recognized his own horse, the rider slumped sideways across the saddle as dead men always were, tied down. He jumped into the road, hands spread to slow his stallion's panicked charge, Merlin right at his side.

The young sorcerer's hands were empty, but the ropes parted to allow the body to slide down into his arms. Matthew. Only hours before, Arthur had told him, _Organize sentry duty… keep an eye out… ride straight back here. _He'd offered the use of his mount, joking, _I don't want you fighting him all on your own._ He held the horse's head as Merlin's hands flew, checking the arrow-wound in Matthew's back, searching for the signs of life.

Then his hands hovered, trembling, and he spoke words of a spell Arthur didn't understand. Morgana appeared at Arthur's side, taking the horse's bridle so Arthur could kneel next to Merlin. Merlin repeated himself, louder and more insistently, and from this angle, Arthur could see the gleam of golden magic in the younger man's blue eyes. All the village was silent. Matthew didn't move.

Merlin swore roundly, as Arthur had rarely heard him, and Hunith flinched. Merlin yanked the arrow from the man's back and flung it blindly away, then growled out the spell one more time, with as little success. Arthur stretched his hand to touch his friend's arm in comfort, but Will's voice reached him first.

"You did this." A sharp accusation. Arthur looked up, but couldn't tell if Will was looking at him or at Merlin – who didn't raise his head at all from the body awkwardly gathered onto his lap. "Look what you've done, you've killed him."

Morgana, still holding the horse, said, "It wasn't his fault." Arthur wondered if she knew which of them Will was referring to.

"How many more need to die before you realize that this is a battle we can't win?" Will's words rose to take in everyone circled solemnly about them. Merlin lifted his head, then, and Will said to him, "If you used your magic, you could end all this."

Merlin pushed to his feet, and Arthur a moment later. The young sorcerer was right next his friend when he paused to say in a low voice, "You know I can't."

"Can't or won't?" Will demanded. "I'm not the one abandoning these people, Merlin. You are."

Merlin didn't appear to react at all. Morgana said to Arthur, not bothering to lower her voice, "If you don't hit him, I'm going to."

Will gave him a sneering glance, then included Morgana and the rest of the villagers. "I'm going," he said, spinning to stalk away.

Arthur went to his friend's side, put his hand on his shoulder. "Merlin, you've got to remember what we talked about," he said quietly, and couldn't tell if the younger man heard him at all. A shrill wail rose from the back of the crowd, a woman screaming Matthew's name. Merlin heard that, and his shoulders seemed to hunch a little inward.

"We still need wood," he said, and moved away from Arthur's hand.

…..*…..

Merlin wished Arthur had brought his chainmail, even though the prince had thought it necessary to disguise their identities as much as possible. He was light-headed with the apprehension of the approaching battle – or hunger, maybe, he hadn't been able to eat much that morning, or the previous day – he'd stay at Arthur's back, of course. Of course. But his mother intended on wielding a hay fork, and Morgana had brought the sword she'd used in training as a girl, and Merlin knew how easy it was to be driven away from your comrades in the midst of drawn battle.

And then there was all the people of Ealdor. _You have to let them defend themselves,_ Arthur had said. Teach a man to fish. Merlin knew he was right… but what when people started dying?

"Are you ready?" Arthur said. Merlin looked up from his intense study of a knothole in the table, surprised that the two of them were alone in the house.

"My throat's dry," Merlin admitted.

Arthur gave him a wry half-smile. "Mine too."

Merlin stood slowly, drawing in a deep breath, feeling his magic stir and swirl inside, awakening to readiness. "Whatever happens out there today," he said to his prince. Arthur, who'd fallen in the last battle Merlin had participated in – just before he'd flung uncounted enemies to a fiery death with one furious bellow. "Please don't think any differently of me."

Arthur stepped right next to him, holding out his hand; Merlin hesitated, then clasped the prince's forearm. "Never," Arthur said confidently.

Morgana leaned through the doorway, ready in her men's trousers, her long hair braided out of her way. "They've crossed the river," she announced.

Merlin followed Arthur from the house; the prince took a few precious seconds to shake the hands of other villagers, to give a few words of encouragement. And if it wasn't a deliberate contrivance on Arthur's part, to hearten and strengthen the peasant men to a hard and unaccustomed duty, then it was inspired and instinctive leadership. And the result was the same. Merlin's neighbors straightened, eyes and hands hardening with resolve.

He avoided meeting those eyes, avoided the speculation there of how exactly _he_ would fight. Avoided looking for Will, who would be long gone. One less person to protect; Merlin told himself he was glad his friend had left the village.

He followed Arthur to their appointed place, just behind the third house from the north, they crouched and waited, Arthur watching the treeline where Kanen always rode in from, Merlin watching Arthur. To minimize the bandit's two advantages, he reminded himself – a superior number of fighting men, and horses – they had to draw them into the village itself, split them up.

Arthur gave no sign of Kanen's approach, but Merlin began to hear the thunder of horses' hooves, the war cries of the raiders. "Hold," Arthur whispered, whether to himself or to Merlin or to the five men behind him, he didn't know. "No one moves until I give the signal. Hold."

Whooping, the bandits thundered into the village – which would look, if everyone held their place as planned, deserted. That didn't mean much, they could all be hiding in their homes… except that the villagers had never hidden from Kanen before. Merlin watched over Arthur's shoulder, through the woven poles of the fence. The horses were reined in, milled about, as the attackers looked confusedly about.

Kanen, the noseguard on his helmet obscuring his expression, called sardonically, "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

"Now, Morgana," Arthur whispered to himself. "What are you waiting for?" Nothing happened; Merlin rose a little higher, ducked to the right to see where the princess should have been setting the first fire. Not so much as a wisp of smoke.

Time was suddenly of the essence. If the bandits were given a chance to think, to study, to search, all might be lost. "I'll go," Merlin decided, darting to their rear to circle the house.

He heard Arthur hiss after him, "Keep your head down!" and knew what his prince meant. No obvious magic for the bandits to realize, to remember and report on to the outside world. Just Ealdor natives, showing their teeth and fighting spirit.

"There's one – get him!" Merlin darted across the open space between that house and the next without a thought for his own safety. His magic was high, and eager, he leaned sideways to avoid the first crossbow bolt without breaking stride, and a heartbeat later – "Kill him!" – he leaped over a second and skidded to a halt beside a kneeling Morgana, frantically scraping the flint.

"_Baerne_," he breathed, and the flame sparked instantly in the dry straw, speeding its way _almost_ unnaturally swiftly along the unremarkable line of scattering hay that concealed a low channel of oil.

"You've gotta teach me that one!" Morgana told him in a delighted whisper. "Now keep back out of the way!"

…..*…..

"Now!" Arthur roared, as the line of fire split into two, then three, just below the horse's hooves. The beasts danced back from the flames in a panic, riders were unhorsed, the single band of raiders now in four separated groups. Elsewhere, ropes were yanked, constructed sections of fence sprang up, further cutting off outlying riders from their fellows.

The fence before Arthur, sawn and strategically propped in place, flattened, allowing himself and the five men behind him to charge straight out at the handful of bandits trapped nearest them.

Arthur was calmer, once he'd begun fighting, than he ever was planning or waiting. His body flowed into a rhythm of instinct – and none here could match his training – where time slowed and allowed for a small pocket of coolly reasoned thought. This attack, then duck, which brought him sliding into this stroke… and whirl to parry, slide his blade inward… move forward to counter the falling blow that might have taken a villager's life, slice upward into the raider responsible… and skip onward to kick still another backward onto the surging flames.

He kept his eye out for Morgana – though the skill level shown by the bandits he faced gave him no worry for his sister's safety – and for Hunith, who was energetically whacking an unhorsed raider about the head and back with a rake as he attempted to escape. He kept his eye out for Merlin, also.

The black-haired boy was five or six yards from him, near Morgana, wielding his sword with adequate but graceless efficiency. And Arthur could not tell if he was supplementing his questionable swordsman's skills with magic. Merlin pushed one attacker to the ground, then lifted his head as if he also were keeping his eye out – and he met Arthur's gaze with a grin.

Behind him, a mounted raider swinging a mace charged out from between two houses, turned and fixed his eyes on Merlin's back. Arthur never wished for magic so intensely as he did in that moment, knowing his shouted warning would come too late. Merlin caught something of his expression and began to turn – and the peasant-clad body of one of the villagers lunged outward from the roof, knocking the rider clear off the horse.

They tumbled, and Arthur recognized Merlin's friend Will as he scrambled up to put his back to Merlin's, a sword in his hand also.

Merlin nodded across to Arthur, a brilliant resolve blazing in his eyes; Arthur turned away to leap back into the fight, his own determination renewed.

…..*…..

"There's too many of them!" Will called over his shoulder, over Merlin's shoulder.

He lifted his head to look beyond his immediate reach, and saw that Will was right. Yes, some had been unhorsed, and yes they had been divided – but the element of surprise was gone. And the bandits were tougher, were more knowledgeable about weapons. The tide was turning, and even Arthur, as brilliant and fearless and tireless as he could be, would not be enough.

"Not for me, there isn't," he said shortly. Magic that doesn't seem like magic. Take away the advantages. "_Ga on wuda_," he spoke, "_Cume thoden_." Grabbing Will's sleeve, he pulled him back against the side of a house as the magic spun outward.

One by one, the bandits' horses reared, squealing fear or rage, refusing to be calmed. One by one the riders were unhorsed by their own inattention or by a observant villager, incapacitated by the fall or a series of blows. Wind blew shrill down the road, shrieking past the gaps of the house, and the peasants who were used to working in and reacting to unexpectedly tumultuous weather sheltered and protected themselves accordingly. The horses shrieked, galloping hard for the shelter of the forest – the particular section of the forest a good many leagues distant – or trampling the fallen bandits – but never the villagers – in their fury and panic. A handful of raiders sprinted away to all points of the compass.

Merlin released the magic with a gasp; he'd never interfered with the weather before, and for good reason.

"Helluva thing, the weather," Will commented breathlessly, his eyes wide.

"_Pendragon_!"

Merlin cursed at the infuriated bellow – someone had recognized Arthur. He scrambled up, followed closely by Will, and skidded into the open avenue between the rows of houses. Kanen strode around the corner of a still-standing fence toward Arthur, who had his back to Merlin. The bandit leader, unhorsed and abandoned, tossed off his helmet and hairy mantle, spun his war-axe at his side in dexterous anticipation.

Arthur moved to meet him, giving his own sword a calming rotation at his side before settling into a balanced crouch. Kanen quickened his steps, swinging the heavy ax to strike an overhand blow from his right; Arthur dodged to the left. Using the momentum of the weight of his weapon, the bandit swung again. The prince leaped past him, swinging his sword to slice his opponent's back, spinning to face him once again.

Now Kanen had his back to Will and Merlin; who felt frozen in place. He was ready to help his friend, but didn't want to distract him in so doing. That was the awful thing about fighting alongside Arthur – letting him fight and risk injury, and not using magic to end the battle. Kanen struck at Arthur's knee, and Arthur somehow managed not only to kick his leg away from the stroke, but to swipe the haft of the ax from the raider's grip with his sword.

Fast as a striking snake, Kanen kicked Arthur back.

The prince kept his feet but gave a few stumbled paces of ground, enough to allow Kanen a pair of moments to snatch a blade from the fallen body of one of his own men. Arthur regained his balance and lunged, twisted his wrist to parry an overhead blow. Kanen swung his newly-acquired blade around; Arthur caught the first attack on his own sword, then a second and third – Merlin began to worry, to stretch out his hand – and the prince, ever the master of strategy, cleverly ducked a fourth to stab his weapon through the bandit's chest.

Kanen collapsed onto his knees, tipped sideways to sprawl dying over the legs of another fallen raider.

"Well, that was new," Arthur said, striding toward them and shoving his sword through his belt. "Weather magic, huh? Nicely done – very natural."

His mouth still felt dry, his hand shaky. "When there are no trees to drop convenient branches from…" Merlin shrugged.

In the space of a single one of the prince's steps, Kanen lifted a crossbow with his last strength and released the trigger.

Will shouted, knocking Arthur aside – and the bolt jerked to a halt.

…..*…..

The horses were ready, saddled and waiting. Morgana had bid Hunith an affectionate farewell, and was already mounted. Arthur stood ready to step up in his stirrup, as soon as Merlin was finished with his own farewells.

Hunith took her son into her arms, kissing his forehead though she had to pull him down a ways to reach him. "When you left," she said, "you seemed still just a boy to me. Now look at you. I'm so proud of you."

Merlin smiled down into his mother's eyes. "I'm going to miss you too," he said. "Come again when you can stay in Camelot longer."

"I will," she promised, and her smile included Arthur. "I'm glad you two have each other – it's easy to see how he needs you, and you need him. You're like two sides of the same coin."

Arthur chuckled, and Merlin said, "I've heard someone say that about us before."

Merlin turned then to the young man who waited at Hunith's elbow, tapping a crossbow bolt somewhat impatiently against his thigh. "This place is boring without you," Will sighed, grimacing without giving offense. "It was good to see you."

"You too," Merlin said, embracing his friend with as much unreserved vigor as he had when they'd arrived. "You be careful with that thing now," he added, snatching at the bolt in Will's hand playfully. "It's sharp."

"I know it's sharp." Will turned it around to point at his heart, and affected to glare at the young sorcerer. "It scratched me before you stopped it." Merlin laughed softly, nodding to accept the teasing. "But – thank you. And –" Will glanced up at Arthur and raised his voice slightly to include the prince. "You're a good man, Merlin, a great man. One day, you'll serve a great king."

"That I will." As Merlin swung up into his saddle, and Will and Hunith backed away to raise their hands in farewell, he glanced over at Arthur with a twinkle in his blue eyes and added, "But until then, I guess I'll have to make do with this one."

Arthur growled, "_Merlin_!"

**A/N: Merlin's spell a compilation of the wind spell used in 1.10 "A Moment of Truth" and the horse-spooking spell used in 5.2 "Arthur's Bane"… **

**Also, a happy ending for those reviewers who were disappointed by Will's death in Kingdom Games. Bet you thought I was going to do it again, didn't you? }:D**


	10. Pure of Heart

**XI. Pure of Heart**

Arthur preferred hunting alone.

Hunting alone meant with Merlin, of course; but when visiting lords brought sons of his own age, Arthur found himself with the entertainment duties of host. So he'd taken Edsel and Harold hunting that morning.

They'd been tracking their prey for the better part of an hour, and Arthur was in no rush to close with it. It was big, whatever it was, he could tell by the noise it made in the brush ahead of them – but it left no tracks, which suggested either a level of intelligence or the presence of magic. However, the proximity meant he could urge silence on his two guests – welcome silence – but not question Merlin for his opinion. The young sorcerer brought up the rear circumspectly, unarmed and carrying their extra gear, drawing no attention from the two young visitors.

Arthur, in the lead, held up one hand in a signal for the three following him to halt. Their prey was maybe ten yards ahead, traveling at a rate that kept it in their range, slow enough for them to keep up, and swift enough to keep them at a distance. But now it had entered a ravine, which might give them an advantage.

He twisted in his crouch, meeting Edsel's eyes, advising him by a series of motions to take his younger brother to the right flank, indicating his own intention of going to the left. Edsel and Harold each nodded eagerly, and began to make their way to the top of the ravine to the right. Merlin moved up next to Arthur.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice as light as a breath.

Arthur replied in a low tone. "I don't know," he admitted. "We'll surround it. I want you to go in there and flush it out."

Merlin huffed in a complaining sort of way. Arthur figured the younger man was as tired of this trip and their unavoidable guests as he was, but he was glad Merlin hadn't pulled any of his usual tricks, using clumsiness as an excuse for scaring off the wildlife, to bring an early end to the activity. "You want _me_ to go in there?" Merlin demanded. "You said you don't know what it is – it could be dangerous."

"That's why _you're_ going in." Arthur gave him a grin, which he returned with an exasperated look, but began to unburden himself of their equipment in preparation.

Arthur left him and made his way to the left, where the ground rose a good twenty feet above the bottom of the ravine. He kept back from the crumbling edge, moving from one large tree to the next. Several times he glimpsed Merlin, a flash of black hair or brown jacket, keeping pace with him on the lower ground, moving soundlessly as a druid could. Glancing down, he saw Merlin freeze, then straighten, as if he'd caught sight of whatever they'd been tracking.

An outcropping formed by the roots of a large oak, leaning out over the ravine, obstructed Arthur's view. He stepped slowly and carefully up onto the base of the tree, leaning around it, balancing his crossbow vertically against his hip in readiness to level and fire. His free hand kept his clothing free of the bark of the tree that might catch and rub and alert their quarry – he caught sight of something large and white and in the first instant thought _Aithusa_? No, surely the dragon was much bigger now than a horse… a _horse_?

Then he saw the horn. The single spiraled horn dividing the creature's forelock, a good eighteen inches long. He held his breath, leaning further forward to better his view, and froze. Merlin had approached silently to within arms' reach of the unicorn, his grin so wide Arthur could see it even at that distance and angle.

The young sorcerer made no move to touch the unicorn, though he probably could've, and Arthur in his place probably would've, but his lips moved as though he was speaking to it. The unicorn lifted its head, its ears swiveling forward to take in the low sound of Merlin's voice. Arthur found his own smile spreading at a sight he'd have been satisfied to spend all day watching, two creatures of magic communing.

The snap of a twig across the ravine, on the right flank, alerted them both at the same time. Merlin tensed, wary as a wild thing himself, clearly trying and unable to locate the source, finally looking up toward Arthur's position and putting one hand forward as if he'd push the unicorn out of the way. Arthur thought, _No, dammit, we're not hunting_ this! and opened his mouth to bellow an order.

The bolt zipped - "_No_!" Merlin cried as the creature shrilled in agony.

Arthur almost slipped down the side of the ravine, trying to lean over to see. The unicorn rose on its hind hooves as if it would pivot and bolt, but instead crashed down on one side. Edsel and Harold whooped victoriously somewhere out of Arthur's view, moving noisily through the underbrush on the opposite side of the ravine. Arthur cursed under his breath as Merlin dropped to his knees beside the wounded creature, reaching to help, to heal.

The bank was too steep, too high. Arthur turned, jogging back down the way he'd come to enter the ravine just behind his two guests, joking and shoving each other in congratulations – Arthur shoved one into the other to pass them, but they took no notice that his gesture had not been in rough appreciation of their accomplishment.

The white horse's body was still on its side. Too still. Merlin's hands were equally motionless in his lap, his head bowed. Arthur opened his mouth to say _I'm sorry_ to his friend, but Merlin spoke first.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and Arthur knew he wasn't addressing him.

"It's my fault," Arthur told him. "It's my responsibility. They're my guests. _I'm_ sorry."

"Ha, ha!" Edsel exclaimed, coming up behind them. "It's a unicorn!"

Arthur clenched his fist at the careless arrogance in the other young man's tone. Merlin glared over his shoulder and spoke clearly, "What have you done?"

The two brothers paused for a surprised instant, then guffawed over Merlin's reaction. Arthur readied himself to have to intervene, when Merlin's expression completely changed again to a focused gaze. He turned – the other two turned – but there was nothing there. Merlin was on his feet in an instant, pushing between them determinedly, but stopped only five paces away, still staring at nothing that Arthur could make out.

He left the two brothers to join his friend, scanning the forest and underbrush himself. "Merlin?" he said in a low voice. "What is it?"

Merlin's eyes were no longer fixed on one point, but searched also. "I thought…" he trailed off. "I thought I saw… Never mind."

Behind them, Arthur heard the soft rasp of metal as one of the brothers drew his sword, but he ignored it. "What did you –" he began, then a soft _crack_! had both of them spinning. Harold sheathed his sword as Edsel raised the severed horn as a claimed prize, both of them grinning. Merlin made a choked noise and spun away. Arthur felt nauseated himself, and imagined it was probably worse for someone with magic.

"Come, Arthur!" Harold called elatedly. "Let's present our trophy to the king!"

…..*…..

Merlin sat sideways on the bench beside Gaius' worktable, absently twisting the pestle in the bottom of the mortar, making tiny circular ridges in the crushed dust of the grain. "Any ideas?" he said finally.

Gaius held up a tiny vial in one hand, carefully pouring a drop from the flask in his other. "No disease I know of could spread through the kingdom in one night," he said, swirling the liquid in the vial to mix it.

"What could kill all the plants?" Merlin asked.

The old physician lowered his hands. "It is not killing all the plants," he clarified. "The trees and hedges are unharmed. Unfortunately, you can't eat trees and hedges."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "It's only killing plants we can eat?"

His attention once again on his experiment, Gaius murmured, "It appears so."

"If it's not a disease," Merlin said, remembering his mentor's warning to the king – _There is a legend that bad fortune comes to anyone who slays one_ – "it must be magic."

"We can't assume that, Merlin," Gaius reminded him. It was the reason they worked so well together – Merlin thought in terms of magic, and Gaius thought in terms of science, and between the two there was always a solution. "Perhaps there is something in the soil or water that can explain it. I can't tell the king it's caused by sorcery until I am certain."

Merlin's mouth made the connection before his conscious mind did. "It was the most beautiful creature," he said wistfully, "that I've ever seen."

The old physician answered absently. "It's a rare privilege; I understand there are few unicorns still alive."

"Why," Merlin said deliberately, "was it _here_?"

Gaius set the vial down and resealed the flask. "Magic calls to magic, that is a fact," he said evasively.

Merlin felt as though the bucket of water in the corner had just been upended down the back of his neck. "You mean, it came for _me_?" he said, aghast.

"It was once said that a unicorn would only show itself to a young maiden," Gaius observed, gazing into the air. Merlin stifled a groan – only let Arthur get hold of that detail, and he'd never hear the end of it. "That's not entirely accurate," the old man continued. "Purity forms the relation – purity of heart, purity of magic."

…..*…..

Arthur was short of temper. With the guests that had cut their visit short at the first hint of a crisis, with his father who'd reacted with restrictions and harsh punishment for any lawbreaking and a search for the enemy sorcerer responsible – all very necessary, and all very useless. With the lack of solution, magic or otherwise. With himself, most of all.

He turned from sending out guards to enforce a curfew in the lower town, to see Merlin treading calmly across the courtyard, deep in thought. He called out and his friend stopped, lifting his head absently.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, striding over to the sorcerer. "I'm going to have to lock you up now, for breaking curfew?"

"I was coming to find you," Merlin answered, but as if he gave the present circumstances and company only half his thought. "Your turn to guard the stores tonight, right? I'll come with you."

His friend was so soft-hearted he'd take one look at a looter and offer to help him carry his spoils home. Arthur sighed, and turned, the younger man falling into step. "Have any luck turning sand back to water?" he asked.

Merlin frowned at the cobblestones beneath their feet. "It's impossible to change one thing to another," he said. "I was trying to figure out a way around the curse."

Arthur grimaced. "So you believe what that old sorcerer said about the curse?"

"I saw him," Merlin said, as they entered an open passageway leading off the courtyard toward the lower levels where the grain was kept stored in the citadel for just such an emergency. "Anhora – in the wood, I mean, when the unicorn… Just for a minute. But yes."

Arthur cursed, under his breath, and then aloud. He shouldn't have taken responsibility for the unicorn's death – but it was his guest who'd killed the creature, what else could he have done? He should have demanded that Anhora visit the bad fortune upon him alone, not the people of Camelot. "So what about these tests, then?" he said impatiently, resting his hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip as they began to descend the stairs.

Merlin lifted a torch from its sconce on the wall and spoke a spell to breathe it to light. "I'm sorry, Arthur, I honestly have no idea what to expect," he said. "When it'll happen, or how, or what you're supposed to prove…" He stopped halfway down and cocked his head thoughtfully. "Although, if Anhora has no power to lift the curse, perhaps it's not about proving yourself to him, but to…"

"To what?" Arthur said.

Merlin's face was creased with the look of thoughtfulness he got whenever he was trying to work out some hitherto unknown secret of the power he had such natural access to. "To magic itself, maybe."

"Oh, hells," Arthur groaned. A person, even a sorcerer, he might have been able to form some expectation of what would be required. To magic itself. They were all doomed.

Then Merlin looked at him and smiled, his eyes gleaming with the torchlight. "Then you should have nothing to worry about, sire," he said, only half joking. "We'll manage, together, right?"

…..*…..

Merlin cursed, tripping over a moss-covered rock. Together, he'd promised Arthur. And now what? Arthur had gone haring off after a shadow, and Merlin had somehow managed to get himself left behind.

"Arthur!" he hollered upward toward the ceiling of colorful fall leaves. He listened, hearing only bird-calls and rustling breezes.

"What do you seek?"

Merlin spun around, almost twisting his ankle, to see the enigmatic figure of the white-robed old man. "I came with Prince Arthur," he said. "We were trying to find you."

"Why?"

He smiled. Arthur was proactive like that, always had to be doing something, never just waiting. "We met a man," he said carefully, "a thief. In Camelot."

Anhora made an interested sound. "A thief in Camelot – of course he was punished."

"That's the thing." Why did Merlin get the feeling that the old man already knew this? "Arthur showed compassion, allowed the man to go free with a measure of grain to feed his family. He called Arthur merciful and kind, and said he would be rewarded – and this morning Camelot had water once again."

"He passed the first test."

"_Yes_," Merlin said eagerly, "so we thought that maybe if we sought you out, we could ask if anything is to be done about the crops, Arthur was quite impatient to get on with the next test, if that was required." The old man's expression did not change, but Merlin felt a sudden sympathy from him.

"Impatient is correct, unfortunately," he said, almost gently.

Merlin's mouth felt as dry as sand. "What do you mean?" he said uneasily.

"The young prince did well in claiming responsibility for the actions of his guest. He did well to show compassion to a poor man desperate to feed his family. However, when he met the same thief in the woods just now, he allowed the man to taunt him to a killing rage, and his sense of pride overcame his sense of justice."

"He –" The colors of the forest seemed to swirl around him, and Merlin turned away from Anhora, only to find himself looking straight at the old man once again. "He failed?" he asked hoarsely.

"Even so."

"The curse will not be lifted?" Merlin persisted. "But he _passed_ the first test… the water was returned. What about the crops, then?"

Anhora looked at him as if wondering whether to trust him, to tell him a secret. "The curse is temporary in nature," he finally allowed. "The affect will be limited to this year's harvest. Next year…"

The words Merlin's mother had spoken in Gaius' chamber just over a fortnight ago, pleading with the prince for whatever aid he might be able to offer, rang through his memory. _The winters are harsh… won't be strong enough to survive… we barely have enough food as it is… our children won't live to see another summer…_ "The people are starving," Merlin said in stiff horror.

"It is a condition limited to the lands of Camelot," Anhora told him, again with the air of sympathy. "There are stores available in other lands."

Merlin collapsed onto a low rock. "Uther would never stoop to asking even his allies for help," he said, resting his forehead in his hand. Perhaps he could do something, use the treasure still beneath Dinas Emrys? Only, he didn't have the first idea how to go about such negotiations – who to approach, the organization of payment, fair distribution… Did he even have _time_ for such a project? "Arthur passed one of your two tests," he said desperately. "Couldn't you give him another chance? He will prove himself worthy to lift the curse!"

Anhora stooped, leaning on his strange pronged staff. "You have such faith in him," the old man said. "_You_."

"I trust him with my life," Merlin said.

Pale blue eyes studied him. "Tell Arthur he must go to the Labyrinth of Gedref," Anhora said. "There he will face a third and final test."

Merlin smiled in relief. A quest – that was something Arthur would appreciate. "Thank you," he said.

Anhora stood and stepped back, vanishing with the words, "Do not thank me yet."

He searched only a short while before finding Arthur lying full length on the ground, supported on his elbows, his face buried in his hands. His sword was discarded next to him; he didn't look up at the soft sound of Merlin's footfalls.

"I've failed," he said. "My pride – my temper – Camelot is doomed, because of me."

"Oh, not yet," Merlin said, deliberately cheerful. Arthur squinted up at him as he seated himself. "I spoke to Anhora – you have a second chance."

"What do you mean?" Despair sharpened in the intensity of offered hope.

"Do you know where to find the Labyrinth of Gedref?"

…..*…..

Arthur halted his mount on the hilltop overlooking the Labyrinth. He'd forgotten how very extensive it was, and a sort of anticipation he would not call nervousness or uncertainty rose up under his breastbone.

Merlin's parting words to him still rang in his ears – _I'm coming with you_.

Not this time.

It did make more sense for him to come alone. Merlin's talents were better used in service of the people in Camelot, not selfishly hoarded for his own safety, especially when the dire circumstances were of Arthur's making. He knew that Merlin privately assumed some of the blame, wishing his reflexes had been a bit faster to stop the crossbow bolt, but it had been Arthur's decision to split their hunting party into three separate positions, allowing for the two brothers' ill-advised decision and the critical division of Merlin's attention, also. He'd taken responsibility for the killing of the unicorn, and it had been his failure of the second test that had kept his land under the curse.

He pressed his heels into his horse's flanks to start it down the hill toward the pillars delineating the entrance to the maze, trying to forget Merlin's rationale for _together_. Join the key. Pendragon and Emrys. _You're not much good separated, are you?_ He resented that, a little, and at the same time, felt it essential to pass a test on his own. It bothered him to wonder if the outcome with Evan the ostensible thief in the woods would have been different with Merlin standing right there.

And if this quest did include risking – or giving – his life, he'd prefer not to have to worry about Merlin's immediate reaction, in the situation. The younger man's sense of loyalty always overcame that of self-preservation, and sometimes that of rationality. If Arthur's life was required, then it was required, and Merlin's insistence on saving him could only complicate such a situation.

Not knowing how long this might take him, he hobbled his horse near the entrance, so the animal could forage but not wander far. He hoped he'd need it again, in the not-too-distant future.

Arthur stood at the pillars of the entrance, hands on his hips, for some moments. The tests, he'd been privately disappointed to note, were not of strength or skill, not for physical prowess at all, but he'd dressed in his chainmail as a precaution, and for traveling alone, the weight of his sword reassuring at his side. Perhaps there were threats hidden in the labyrinth's walls – not all magical creatures were _friendly_, after all. Perhaps it was a test for endurance – how long might he be required to wander? - or cunning – perhaps he simply had to make his way through?

Hells, he felt lost without Merlin. Shaking off the thought and the feeling, he entered the maze.

He knew as well as anyone that to get through a maze, one simply had to place one hand or the other on one of the walls, and never remove it. In one of this size, however, it would take weeks to traverse, that way.

So Arthur relied on instinct, keeping his footsteps quick enough to follow a new path, take a new turn, without conscious thought. He was aware, also, that he'd failed the second test because he'd allowed his temper and his impatience to get the better of him. If he'd been thinking logically, he might have questioned the strange young thief's jibes targeting his insecurities as a crown prince and as a son far too well for an ordinary stranger.

So he walked at a quick stride, alert for immediate threat – and waited. The first test had come to him, and he'd passed without conscious effort – the second he had sought out, and…

Arthur smelled salt on the breeze, and turned his face toward the sun as he approached the end of the row. His steps halted for one surprised moment – instead of the leafy green wall he'd come to expect, there was a gap in the hedge. And sand, and surf. He paced warily to the break in the wall, taking in the rocky shore, apparently deserted but for Anhora. In his white robe, the old man nearly blended into his sun-bleached surroundings; half a dozen paces behind him, Arthur could see the corner of a low table, the stump of a tree positioned for a seat.

As he left the hedges of the labyrinth, circling to keep his distance from the old sorcerer as he would when facing any other opponent, he saw that he and Anhora were not alone. The other end of the low table was occupied. "Merlin?" he said, finding himself wearily unsurprised.

"I'm sorry," the young sorcerer said. He seemed nervous, though, and that put Arthur on edge.

Arthur addressed Anhora. "Let him go. I will take your test, but not until you've released him."

"His release is no longer possible," the old man answered mildly. "Merlin chose to participate of his own free will, and he is now part of the test. Please sit." Arthur put his hands on his hips, glaring at both sorcerers equally. "If you refuse the test you will have failed, and Camelot will fall," Anhora added.

"I told you to stay at home," Arthur said, crossing the rocky beach to lower himself to the vacant stump opposite Merlin.

Merlin shrugged, leaning over his crossed arms as if highly uncomfortable. "He asked if I wanted to help."

Arthur snorted and looked back at the old man, "All right, let's get on with it."

"There are two goblets before you," Anhora explained, gesturing to the pair of drinking cups in the center of the rough table. "One of them contains a deadly poison, the other a harmless liquid. All the liquid from both goblets must be drunk, but each of you may only drink from a single goblet."

Arthur leaned forward to see inside both cups – the liquid was exactly the same, in appearance no different than the water rushing and retreating in a background sigh beside them, each filled to the halfway mark. He took up the one nearest him to sniff at it; Merlin dipped his fingertips into the goblet closer to him and rubbed them together.

_Well, that does it_, Arthur thought to himself. _I'm not drinking _that_ one_. "What is this meant to prove?" he said aloud. "If we can't even tell which one is which?"

"What it proves is for you to decide," Anhora said. "If you pass the test, the curse will be lifted." Arthur was watching him, and noticed something – the old man's gaze was on the two goblets, not on either price or sorcerer. He was reminded strongly of Merlin's friend Will, voicing an accusation – you_ did this, look what _you've_ done_ – and Arthur confused as to which one he meant.

What if Anhora's instruction addressed them both?

He looked at the goblets. Across the goblets at the focused gaze of his friend, which turned gold momentarily, before Merlin made a sound of annoyance and sat back. Arthur figured he'd tried to discern the poison with magic, and couldn't.

He leaned his forearms on the table. There had to be an answer beyond simply choosing which one of them was to die at random. That proved nothing… and something about this whole arrangement bothered him. A test, to prove himself – _themselves_? – not to Anhora, but to magic itself.

"There must be a way around it," Merlin said slowly.

Arthur made a noise of agreement. "We have to find a way to determine which goblet has the poison."

Merlin bit his lip, narrowing his eyes, and began to mumble, as was his way when he was trying to think something through. "If I drink mine first… no, that won't work… but if it's not and I then drink… no, each is only allowed to drink from one."

Arthur drummed his fingers on the table. There was a solution, that he believed; this was only the first part of the test. It was what came after the poison was identified, that was the problem. He closed his eyes and concentrated on how the sound of the water blended with his friend's murmuring.

In both tests, he'd been in control, held a man's life in his hands. The first test he'd chosen to let the man go free; the second time he'd tried to kill him. Was that it? He had to choose to let Merlin go free. It was the clever solution – Merlin was a powerful sorcerer, and could probably… probably… heal him. He'd thought something similar after Merlin had drunk poisoned wine in his place, several months ago now. Although, Gaius had said more than once that poison was a tricky thing even for magic. So he couldn't necessarily count on Merlin's magic to save him.

His thoughts returned to the tests, to the words of the young man who called himself Evan. _Your father would never have been fooled_… the first test, Arthur had made a choice far different than the king would have, in his place – the second test, he'd reacted as his father would have counseled, to arrest the thief, to demand satisfaction for the insults to his honor. If Uther sat across from Merlin at this moment, there was no doubt in Arthur's mind that the king would allow, even encourage, the sorcerer to give his life that the ruler of the land might live.

"I've got it!" Merlin said, his eyes alight with satisfaction at having solved the riddle. "We pour all the liquid into one goblet, and then we can be sure it's poisoned – then all the liquid can be drunk and from a single goblet!"

So there it was. Merlin must go free. Arthur must not allow Merlin to die in his place. Only – what did it prove to magic itself, if he were to die? That's what bothered him – join the key. Pendragon and Emrys. Not much good separated… two sides of one coin. _You've much to accomplish_, Kilgarrah had once said, hinting at prophecies beyond that of Dinas Emrys.

"What if," Arthur said slowly, "We pour both liquids into one goblet, then share it back out again?" Merlin's eyes met his. "If the poison is halved, could we not expect to survive it?" He glanced aside at Anhora, who was impassive as ever.

Merlin shook his head slowly. "Without knowing what it is," he answered, "we can't guess that. A single drop might be fatal." He reached out for the goblet nearest him, and slowly began to pour the liquid into the second cup.

Neither of them needed to say anything. Of course Merlin expected to be the one to drink, would fight and argue and use magic on Arthur – would Anhora allow that? - to be the one to drink. And of course Arthur would answer back that the whole mess was his fault, his responsibility to pass the test, to lift the curse. _But you're the prince, the future king,_ his friend would say. _Don't, Merlin, be a hero. Not again_.

The last drops trickled from the cup in the sorcerer's hand. Steady, Arthur noticed; Merlin had no qualms, no fears. His own belly was tied in knots. He said casually, as a sort of farewell that would not alert Merlin to his intention, "You never cease to surprise me – you're a lot smarter than you look."

His friend's lips quirked in a answering smile. "Is that actually a compliment?" he teased back.

Swift as thought, Arthur shifted his gaze over Merlin's shoulder and widened his eyes in alarm. "Look out!" he said. And as Merlin twisted to face whatever threat might be coming on them from behind, Arthur's hand shot out to grasp the full cup. Knowing that he would use magic to stop Arthur - in spite of Anhora or the rules of the test - Arthur gulped the mixed liquids, even as Merlin turned back, in horror too late.

"_No_!"

The taste was foul, but Arthur drank it fully, without even stopping to breathe.

Tears shone in Merlin's eyes. "What have you done?" he whispered, his arm stretched across the table as if he'd tried to reach for the deadly cup.

The world faded to a bright blur. He felt himself falling… falling…

…..*…..

Merlin scrambled around the table to reach his prince – for the second time that week too slow to prevent a death so _wrong_.

Immediately and without a word to Anhora, he poured his magic into the body of his friend, searching for the poison as he had to heal the victims of the water poisoned by the afanc, as he had to heal Sir Ewan of the snake's venom. There was nothing, no trace of danger or evil that he could find. He cursed, and tried again, flooding Arthur with magic – again finding no substance to combat. Did it act so quickly, then? He laid frantic fingers against the side of Arthur's neck, found the pulse slowed but regular.

"Has he passed the test, now?" he snarled at Anhora. "What was the poison you gave him? Tell me please, if I can save him! Let me take his place, even!"

Anhora stepped toward them slowly, sedately, and seated himself on the stump Arthur had fallen from. "He won't die," the old man informed him. "He has merely consumed a sleeping draught – he will come round shortly."

"_What_?" Merlin said.

The first smile he had seen on the Keeper's face was small, and fleeting, but there. "The two goblets indeed held a deadly poison, and a harmless liquid," he said. "When combined, they form an innocent potion that accomplishes a deep and immediate sleep."

Merlin said dazedly, "So we could have shared it out…"

"A unicorn," Anhora told him, "is pure of heart. Arthur was willing to sacrifice his life to save yours – proving what is in his heart also. The curse will be lifted."

Merlin rubbed the chainmail over Arthur's shoulder in a calming incredulity. "You didn't need me, you know," he said. "Arthur can be stubborn and pig-headed and annoying, but he cares about his people. He would not have let me drink from the goblet no matter who I was."

Anhora gave him an enigmatic look. "That may be so," he allowed. "But it is an inescapable fact that your destinies are linked. Both become," he said, "the chosen one."


	11. To Kill the King

**XII. To Kill The King**

Magic yanked Merlin from a sound sleep, drew him right up to sitting in his bed.

He rubbed the heel of one hand confusedly in his eye socket, feeling the chill of autumn midnight in his fingers and his nose, and wished to pull his blanket right over his head and go back to sleep. But there was… the magic.

He stumbled down the three stairs from his room to the main chamber, surprised that Gaius was still sitting up, leaning over the large tilted drawing-table, candlelight flickering over the sketches tacked on its surface, the page the old physician concentrated on. Gaius glanced up, his quill hovering, the book he was copying from open in his other hand.

"Can't sleep?" his mentor asked.

"Something woke me," Merlin said, almost tripping on the last stair; his attention was far outside the room, searching for the traces of a magic strong enough to reach him in his sleep.

Gaius put down his quill. "What?"

"I don't know," Merlin said. An insistent curiosity was beginning to grow; he sat down on the top stair and turned back for the boots he'd left by the door. "A feeling."

"What kind of feeling?"

"Powerful magic," Merlin said, stuffing his feet inside his boots. Where was his jacket? Oh, there by the workbench where he'd slung it negligently last – no, only a few hours ago. He stopped and concentrated – the sense of magic was fading, and he could not read an evil intent behind it. Not an attack, then, but still – "Here in Camelot," he added.

"And where do you think you're going?" Gaius questioned sternly.

"To Arthur?" Merlin gave his mentor the most engaging grin he could summon, and the old man humphed as he turned back to his task.

He was halfway down the tower stairs when he remembered that Arthur would not be in his bedchamber tonight; once a week he shared the guard duties for either first or last watch. The prince would be patrolling Camelot until two hours past midnight. Merlin froze on the landing – what if the magic performed had something to do with his friend? He cursed, leaping down the second flight of steps, reminding himself _not an attack, not an attack…_

Merlin sprinted across the courtyard, making no attempt to disguise his departure. The guards at the drawbridge stood and crossed their halberds in preparation to demand that he halt long enough to be recognized and state his business, but a shout rose from the square beyond them. "Is that Merlin? His Highness has demanded his attendance –"

He ducked between the still-crossed weapons and continued, meeting and passing the guard that had approached with the message. "Where?" he demanded, terse from being out of breath and in a hurry.

"The blacksmith's."

It wasn't far. The streets were deserted, this time of night, and Merlin had lived in Camelot long enough to learn his way around the lower town as well as the citadel. There was a guard waiting outside the open doors of the forge, clearly more alert to any possible threat than was normal for a patrol. He called into the blacksmith's shop, "My lord? Merlin."

He skidded to take the corner into the forge, somewhat reassured that Arthur was evidently still in a position of command. There were coals still glowing on the great hearth – unusual for this time of night, he thought – and Arthur, with his back to the door, perched on a table at the other end of the room, facing the blacksmith and his wife. The pair was huddled together in shock or fear; the rest of the room seemed uncharacteristically cluttered, as if a fight had taken place there and it had not yet been put to rights.

Arthur twisted to give him a raised eyebrow. "Well, that was fast," he remarked. "Would that you followed all my orders so –"

"What happened?" Merlin demanded, crossing to the table and giving his prince a cursory once-over for any injuries.

Arthur appeared unharmed. "That," he said, untroubled by Merlin's rude interruption, "is what I hope you will be able to tell us."

"I felt it," Merlin told him, looking once again around the room. Whatever that magic had been, whatever ritual performed with whatever intent, it had been _here_, but now was gone. Arthur straightened from the table, jerked his head in invitation for Merlin to follow him a few private steps away from the blacksmith and his wife.

"A little over a quarter of an hour ago," the prince told him in a lowered voice, "the blacksmith's wife came for the patrol. Someone had broken into the forge, she said. Evidently her husband tried to face the intruder himself." They both looked back at the couple, the blacksmith gazing around his shop bemused, his wife hovering in tearful sympathy. Merlin began to think in terms of what medical care might be required for the man. "We interrupted – something," Arthur continued grimly. "Tauren."

Merlin's attention was caught back to his friend. "_Tauren_?" he repeated incredulously. "You mean the –"

"The mercenary?" Arthur said. "The leader of a band of renegade sorcerers-for-hire? He escaped – again, my father's going to be furious."

"But what's he doing inside Camelot's walls?" Merlin said blankly.

Arthur made a thoughtful noise. "And what's he doing in a blacksmith's forge?"

Merlin shifted so that his back was to the smith. "He couldn't tell you?" he asked, lowering his voice.

Arthur shook his head. "That's why I wanted you here. Magic, he said, but nothing more specific."

Merlin returned to the blacksmith's side. "Are you all right?" he asked the man. "Are you hurt?"

"No," the blacksmith answered, meeting Merlin's gaze round-eyed. He'd spoken to him half a dozen times in passing, and had gathered that though the smith was strong and skilled, he was also guileless as a child.

"Can you tell me more about the sorcerer who came here?" Merlin asked, and when the man began to shake his head slowly with a look of confusion, he clarified, "Maybe you overheard a word of the spell, or maybe he used some external aid to his spell, an artifact or something? Was there any result to his magic that you noticed? Or did he leave anything behind?"

The man thought so long Merlin wondered if he might not have to repeat himself more slowly. "There was a stone," the smith said finally. "A stone he carried in a pouch. He was standing over the forge when I came in, mumbling about a furious gelding, and just before His Highness and the guard came in, he cooled something in the barrel there. He was just reaching it out when the door burst open. I don't think he left anything, he just turned and ran."

"The stone," Merlin said. "What did it look like?"

The smith shrugged. "It was orange?" he said.

Arthur – who'd crossed to check the cooling barrel - snorted, but Merlin smiled encouragement. "Would you allow me to do something?" he asked. "Just a bit of magic, it won't hurt at all, just allow me to see your memory of the stone?"

The smith glanced at his wife, who was watching Merlin; she looked back at her husband and nodded. Merlin reached out, slowly so as not to worry the man, held his hand vertically before his face, fingers only slightly outstretched. Then he closed his own eyes and concentrated, gently, on the visual images that had entered the man's memory through his eyes, the magic very similar to that which allowed him to _see_ further physically.

He glimpsed himself for a brief disorienting moment, Arthur entering the forge in a brave rush of readied weaponry, the sorcerer-mercenary at the hearth, his back turned, his hand to the side cupping the orange stone. That instant's focus on the object Merlin gathered for himself, imprinting on his own memory, and released the contact with a breathless gasp.

The couple was watching him with wary fascination. "Did you get it?" Arthur said, his tone just short of condescending.

Merlin smiled again at the blacksmith. "Thank you," he told him. His knees creaked as he straightened, and Arthur's hand around his upper arm helped steady him as the prince hauled him out of the forge.

"Well?" Arthur said. "Please tell me you found something of actual use among all that drivel. _Furious gelding_," he scoffed.

"I won't know until I talk to Gaius," Merlin said.

…..*…..

Arthur pushed through the physician's door fully expecting Gaius and Merlin, but was surprised to see the back of a green silk gown and his sister's waist-length waves of black hair also bent over the drawing-table at the back of the room.

"Arthur," Merlin greeted him without turning, but both Gaius and Morgana straightened and faced him.

"Well?" he said, crossing the room to look over the shoulder of the young man seated on the stool. "Father wants me out searching door to door." He repeated Uther's words, "He slept somewhere; he fed somewhere – find out who helped him."

Merlin moved his hand – no quill in sight – away from a ragged section of parchment tacked to the slanted surface, revealing a intricately-detailed and _colored_ depiction of an oblong stone. The drawing somehow managed to convey a crystalline quality of the object, as well as the metallic gleam of its setting – a six-pronged clasp of silver, fashioned into delicate claws, three at each end of the oval. "You never," he said, with a teasing punch of his friend's shoulder, "told me you were an _artist_."

Morgana huffed and smacked Arthur's shoulder; Merlin gave him a quick grin and swiveled on the stool to watch Gaius cross to the open book on the desk. "Petrology," the old physician explained succinctly, turning pages without seating himself. "In this case, a compendium of stones, crystals, and gems known to the records of sorcery." He paused, then lifted the book, pacing back to them. On the right side, a small dingy copy of the rendering Merlin had done.

Each of them leaned forward – Morgana to trail her fingers over the drawing, Arthur to try to make out the words. He couldn't read the runes, but Merlin translated, "The Mage Stone."

"Wonder of the ancients," Gaius pronounced, turning the book around to gaze down at the pages. Merlin stood and circled to read over his shoulder, pinching his lower lip thoughtfully. "Lost for a thousand years or more."

"Where's it _been_, and how'd he _find_ it?" Merlin breathed.

"What does it _do_?" Arthur said pointedly. The younger sorcerer met his eyes over Gaius' shoulder and gave him a sheepish grin.

"Theoretically, it could give the bearer the power of transformation," Gaius said, still reading.

Transformation. Arthur rolled his eyes – how very uselessly vague.

Merlin said suddenly, "Arthur – in a forge – furious gelding. Ye gods… Gaius, he must've said _Ferian aet gyldan_…"

The old man looked up, startled. Morgana said, "What?"

"Lead to gold," Merlin answered, stunned. "The power of alchemy."

"But alchemy's impossible, isn't it?" Arthur said. Hadn't Merlin explained to him before that though the illusion of change was fairly simple, the nature of a thing could not be permanently altered?

"It has never been publically proven to succeed," Gaius said, reluctant as he often was to make a definite statement.

Arthur growled a curse. "I don't believe for a minute that Tauren intends to manufacture a private fortune and _retire_," he said. "He has the stone – and probably a chunk of gold fished from that cooling barrel – He knows it _works_. If you could have seen his face, the moment we broke through that door… He's surely up to something bigger. "

And the minute he told his father this news, the search for any trace of the rogue sorcerer would intensify dangerously. And remain as fruitless as it ever was. Sorcerers of Tauren's ability and cunning, his criminal ingenuity and planning, were nearly impossible to catch.

"What can we do?" Merlin said. Arthur paced to the door, rubbing his forehead. They'd been over the question of the younger man's magic aiding the search, but unfortunately, it required Merlin to be within a dozen paces of the intended target for any of the options – spells, potions, whatever – to allow them to successfully track a fugitive using magic himself to escape. He turned and paced back; any clue-gathering of the more esoteric type – scrying, say – required the caster to have a level of familiarity with the subject.

Arthur stopped, staring at the incredible, intricate depiction of the Mage Stone tacked to Gaius' slanted drawing table. Which Merlin had created from an image remembered by the blacksmith.

He opened his mouth and said, even as the hinted possibility grew and took form in his mind. "I have an idea."

…..*…..

The Darkling Wood at sundown. Merlin trod the paths soundlessly, a ghost of a shadow though he'd declined a druid-like cloak. Declined also Arthur's suggestion of a weapon one sorcerer could wield against another – one of the two sidhe staffs kept under lock and key and magic in the vaults below the citadel. He wanted and needed to be as innocuous as possible, if this was to work.

It was why he'd come alone, as well. That chafed Arthur, as had his rejection of the idea of arming himself any more than magic already did for him. Tauren had set the time and place of their meeting, which meant he'd likely be watching Merlin as long as possible, to be sure Merlin had indeed come alone – a pair of guards or the crown prince discovered trailing along was likely to stop this plan before it had a chance to begin.

"Stop right there." A voice sounded on his left, though no one was visible.

Merlin obediently halted, and waited. His senses, attuned to the sounds of a forest from an early age, and honed hunting with Arthur, told him there were three of them. One, he thought, had been following for some time, the other two simply waiting for him to reach their position before stepping out.

"He's alone," the one behind him reported.

He stood still and didn't say anything, simply watching them. One had long greasy brown hair, one had black hair tied with twine at the back of his neck, and one a shaved bristle of a lighter shade, but they were all the same. Furtive and greedy-eyed, bold in numbers. The magic he felt from them in close proximity, like reflected shadow, was edgy and selfish, small and dangerous and unpredictable.

The one on his left, with the queue and a scar across his nose, said to him, "You the one tried to scry Tauren?"

He'd taken the image from Arthur's mind the way he'd seen the Mage Stone in the blacksmith's memory, though his first attempt to scry the sorcerer-mercenary hadn't revealed much before Tauren was alerted and shielded himself from Merlin's magic. But with the renegade sorcerer's aspect now known to him, he'd been able to send a message – Morgana's contribution to this plan.

Merlin nodded. "He's not here?" he asked. That meant the plan changed – without Tauren present, he would not be able to surreptitiously lay a spell on some object about the man that would allow him to be followed and located at Arthur's convenience.

The one behind Merlin snickered through strands of his greasy hair. "Why," he drawled sarcastically, "should he trust you? You live at the palace, in the lap of luxury…"

"If you think that," Merlin said over his shoulder, "than you do not know Uther Pendragon at all. I'm the apprentice of a man the king provides with room and board, the supplies needed to serve the royal purpose. I haven't two coins to rub together, and it's use your magic for this and can't your magic do that, and do I hear one word of thanks?" He let his voice get bitter. He was unhappy with this part of the plan, but showing that attitude could only help his believability. He hated to be speaking in innuendo and half-truths, and hoped they wouldn't ask him pointed questions about his prince. Lying would come far harder to his tongue, then.

"So," the leader on the left said. "You asked to meet with us. What have you got to say?"

Merlin met his eyes. "I know what he has," he said. "I know what he can do with it. I want a share of the gold."

The man laughed in his face. "The gold is not to line our own pockets with, boy," he said. "It is a means to an end. With enough wealth an army can be raised to overwhelm the knights of Camelot. And without its king and its army, the land is ripe for the picking." He cupped his hand, mimed plucking fruit from a tree.

"That doesn't make sense," Merlin said. "If you already have the ability to create a fortune, why turn on the Pendragons?"

The man shrugged. "It's tiresome being an outlaw," he said. "Tauren wants more than wealth – he wants a title and an estate, time and opportunity to study –" he exchanged a grin with the short-haired man on his left – "other aspects of magic."

Merlin felt the back of his neck prickle; they were being very free with their information. Which meant either it was false – he didn't think so, somehow – or they didn't intend on allowing him the opportunity to pass it along.

The short-haired man rubbed a dirty hand along the stubble on his jaw, eyeing him. "You want a share?" he said. "What are you offering, your silence? Because we can ensure that without spending a single –"

Merlin held up one hand, feeling his magic rush to defense. The short-haired man took half a step back, the leader laid his hand to the hilt of the sword at his side. And Merlin moved two paces to the side, to see the greasy-haired man that had been behind him tugging at the knife that had been frozen in midair, inches short of Merlin's back. He met Merlin's eyes and let go the hilt of the weapon; Merlin reached out to pluck it from the air.

The leader exchanged a look with his short-haired fellow. "Perhaps we underestimated you," he said cautiously. His glance dropped down to the knife in Merlin's hand. "What are you offering?" This time the tone of the question was serious.

"I'd like to make my terms with Tauren," Merlin tried.

The leader smirked. "Not so fast, boy. Not without some proof that your switch of loyalty is genuine."

Which led them, Merlin noted with approval if not with pleasure, right into Arthur's plan. "What do you want me to do?"

The three of them held some unspoken conference; Merlin guessed that they had not expected this meeting to have progressed thus far. The leader finally said, with the air of a man determined to start the bargaining as high as possible, "We need access to the king – you help get Tauren into Camelot, and out again when he's assassinated Uther, and you'll have your gold."

Merlin shook his head. "I can't," he said. "Not that. Getting past guards is one thing, but the king is no fool and doesn't trust me anyway. It's too risky. But," he paused, pretending to think, "I can get you the prince. If his heir is killed, Uther will be broken, and taking Camelot will be easy."

"I've heard," the leader said thoughtfully, "that you and the prince have an – understanding. How do we know you're not setting us up? I think you need to give us the princess as well. Uther childless will be an easier target yet."

Merlin considered. Morgana had volunteered for this eventuality, though Arthur would not be pleased with him agreeing to it. However, enchanting some object to be able to follow one of these three men would simply not be sufficient. There was no guarantee that any one of them would be with Tauren at any given time, and if one were captured, the transitory nature of the life of the mercenaries would immediately render any information he might give them useless.

"Fine," he said finally. "The day after tomorrow, Lady Morgana is journeying to her mother's estate in the south. I know that Arthur is planning on accompanying them for half a day's distance. The princess dislikes a heavy escort; there will be only two or three guards with them."

"And you?" the greasy-haired man challenged.

"I'm to remain in Camelot," Merlin said, and he thought of the leech-tank to make his lips twist with the right expression of disgust. "_Chores_."

"No pay until after the Pendragons are dead," the leader warned.

Merlin nodded. "I'll send another raven, and Tauren can reply with time and place for another meeting." He flipped the knife in his hand and gave it a throw, to stick quivering in a nearby stump.

…..*…..

The day was raw, dawn passed without any indication. The clouds were low and gray, blocking any color or warmth of sunlight, the wind cutting and persistent. It was not a day Arthur would have chosen to ride out, even to accompany his sister on her journey south. It was not a day Morgana would have chosen to begin her journey south.

She rode at his side, the hood of her dark green cloak up over her head, held in place by one hand at her chin and throat.

"You see," he said to her conversationally, "we could have put another on your horse, in that cloak, and they would never have known the difference."

Morgana glared green fire at him. She'd insisted again that morning on her inclusion in the plan – not to allow anyone else to risk themselves by posing as the princess on a ride toward an expected ambush – arguing that such a ruse would throw their quarry off. She did have rather distinctive looks – but that was mostly negated by the need to keep covered against the cold.

"If I'd told Father about our plan, he wouldn't have let you risk riding out, either," she said.

"Not without twenty knights as guard, at least," Arthur agreed. Which would have made the whole venture useless; Tauren and his sorcerers probably wouldn't have risked attacking even the prince and princess with that kind of protection.

He glanced back at the red-cloaked guard behind them, his expression hidden by the nose-guard on his conical helmet, but his discomfort visible in the hunch of his shoulders against the edge of the wind. The one who rode ahead of them was similarly lacking in knightly posture. Ah, well, the illusion of inattention would probably draw the renegades to attack.

Morgana drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "I don't know about you," she said, "but I'm about to get down and start running with Merlin. I bet he's warm, anyway."

Arthur stopped another instinctive backward glance. Even afoot and off the path, he believed the young sorcerer was well able to keep up; they set a slow enough pace, anyway. Not that he'd be able to see Merlin anyway if the young man raised a druid did not want to be seen – and their plan rather hinged on that – but looking for him might give away the fact of his presence to anyone else watching.

"You think he'll forgive me?" he said to his half-sister in a mostly-joking tone.

He and Merlin hardly ever argued, but they had argued over this. Merlin wanted to be disguised as one of the escorts and ride along with them, able to guard them with his magic and stay within ten paces at all times. Arthur, however, was highly uncomfortable with the thought of his young friend facing three or four other sorcerers – and Tauren evidently strong and skilled enough to accomplish the magic of alchemy – unarmed. Gaius and Morgana had to interrupt the secondary argument that threatened at Arthur's use of that word.

He didn't doubt Merlin's ability to employ magic successfully against Kanen's forty men, or the handful of bandits they occasionally ran into. But another magic-user was something else entirely – and Merlin would be outnumbered. Even the best warrior might fall to an inexperienced attacker if forced to divide his attention in battle. Arthur had insisted that Merlin "borrow" one of the staffs left on the shore of the lake after Aulfric and Sophia's disappearance, kept safely locked in the vaults below Camelot's citadel, and Merlin had finally submitted. However, the staff could not be disguised as part of a knight's or guard's ordinary equipment, which then required the younger man to follow the party unseen.

"Arthur," Morgana answered, lightly scolding, "he already has." The hood covered her black hair tipped slightly sideways. "Although, if your plan doesn't work, he won't let you hear the end of it."

"If my plan doesn't work," Arthur said, striving to keep his tone light and not allow any grim note to enter, "Merlin's complaint will be the least of our worries."

They rode for a while in silence. Arthur was glad for the gloves which covered his hands, and the padded jacket under his chainmail, and hoped the moisture that threatened would remain above them in the clouds.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" Morgana asked. "I mean to say, he can't exactly practice sparring with another sorcerer the way you can with your training."

"He'll be all right," Arthur said, but didn't bother trying to explain further. He only half understood the things Merlin and Gaius discussed of Merlin's second nature, but knew that his friend's instincts were quick and accurate, his power uncanny. He glanced over at his sister. "It's a bit different than Ealdor, right?" he said. "Being the one to ride into an ambush, and knowing it?"

Morgana shivered and rubbed her cheeks gently with her gloved right hand, the left being occupied with the reins of her mount. "Do you think we can get them to quit waiting, and just attack?" she added, her spirits only sharpened by the weather. "We've been riding for an hour already."

Arthur made a noncommittal noise. The southern road rose over the bare-topped moors for several leagues; there was little cover apart from the bend and ripple of the land itself, the trees single and massive and far from the track. Even with Merlin keeping them mostly in view, he didn't think they had to worry about arrows. This wasn't the land for that tactic, and they faced sorcerers. But after an hour, he was starting to agree with Morgana. If Tauren's band intended to follow through on Merlin's information at all, they were either waiting for an opportunity, or for the party to grow weary and negligent.

"Well," he said, reining in. Morgana copied him, and the guard in the rear hollered to his fellow at the head. He grinned down at his half-sister. "Perhaps we can make ourselves a bit more tempting, hm?"

…..*…..

Merlin decided that he hated running.

The southern road, usually free of roving bandits for the simple reason that the area lacked cover, was also for that reason a perfect place to stage an ambush. It wouldn't be expected.

But if he wanted to stay within view of the two Pendragons, he couldn't slow to the walk of the horses. He had to dash and duck, keeping below the curve of the land – up to his knees in the mud and muck and freezing-cold water of the streams which criss-crossed the land – waiting to catch his breath and search out the next section of his unseen route. And watch Arthur and Morgana ride sedately to the edge of his sight, chatting comfortably, while he prepared to jog another mile at half-crouch.

Perhaps it would have been better to agree to lure them into the citadel with promises of his aid in reaching Uther – but there were so many more _people_ around, always. If you could catch a snake in the field, what point in bringing it into the house to kill?

The butt of the sidhe staff in his hand caught in a tangle of wet roots, lurching from his grasp. He cursed the thing, wishing he'd never explained its origin and use to the prince, wishing he'd hurled both of them into the lake the morning they'd woken on the bank. He wanted to leave it behind, now, but didn't quite dare Arthur's wrath if and when he discovered Merlin's disobedience. He untangled the faerie weapon with numb fingers and risked a glance over the southern bank. Then he cursed again – for some reason, Arthur and Morgana had chosen to dismount and leave their horses with the two guards next the road. The bright red cloak and the deep green fluttered at the edge of a small grove of trees, then left his sight.

Merlin didn't immediately move. Presumably the guards kept their eyes on the royal pair, and he needed to map out his approach. The rivulet soaking through his boots seemed to curve a little further to his right than he would have liked, but he thought it connected eventually to the grove.

He was half right. He splashed and waded downsteam until the boot-chilling trickle met another and continued toward the southeast, and it was this second that entered the grove. He paused for a moment of breath and a handful of the numbingly cold water, then crept up the bank for another perusal of the situation.

Both guards were down, soundlessly, in a crumple of gray armor and red cloak.

Oh, _damn_.

Merlin clambered over the edge of the bank, less worried now about drawing Tauren to definite judgment than the protection of his friends. The greasy-haired mercenary-sorcerer crouched on his heels at the side of the road, holding the reins of the four mounts – he saw Merlin and straightened, raising his hand and opening his mouth. To shout a warning or to incant an attack, was not clear. Merlin didn't hesitate; he raised the staff to fire a bolt of jagged blue lightning.

Arthur had been right about bringing it. If they lived, he would have to admit it, and never hear the end. He'd been reluctant to think of ending someone's life with the swift brutality that had been necessary with Arthur already beneath the surface of the lake of Avalon – but this wasn't really so different, was it? He didn't have the time to block attacks and attempt to incapacitate another magic-user, when there was four of them, and Arthur and Morgana's safety in the balance. But unlike the sidhe in human flesh, the greasy-haired sorcerer did not disintegrate in fiery flutters – he stiffened, terror frozen on his face, and toppled.

Merlin's foot slipped on the wet grass and he dropped closer to the ground to prevent himself sliding all the way back to the stream – and the rock just beside his left foot exploded in flying shards. Flying away from him, as luck would have it. He raised his head and the staff, aiming with a breathless spell, "_Acwele_!" and the short-haired sorcerer was knocked motionless to the ground.

How many moments had passed since he'd seen Arthur and Morgana? His pulse thundered in his throat and behind his eyes as he scrambled over open ground to reach the grove.

The third sorcerer he'd met in the Darkling Wood turned from his place of cover behind the trunk of a tree - Merlin was still downhill from the grove, and couldn't see into it – he gasped out the spell. As the bolt of blue lightning leaped from the crystal at the head of the staff, yet another figure dressed in the concealing brown of a bandit or mercenary moved into Merlin's view, just beyond and to the left.

He directed the stream of energy from the sidhe's weapon past the falling sorcerer to the fourth – Tauren, clear in that instant with eyes sunken and fanatic, hair and beard a dirty smear of stubble – as the leader of the renegades lifted his hand.

Orange flashed, caught the blue from Merlin's staff. _Mage Stone_, he thought, in one horrified instant _transformation_ – and the killing blue light reflected from the crystal, back upon Merlin.

Once his magic had formed a shield just over his heart to save his life from the power of the staff's crystal. This time his hand shifted the staff itself into the stream of deadly blue-white fire – it shattered violently, flinging fragments. He was thrown backward into darkness.

…..*…..

As a precaution, Arthur drew his sword from his belt and stuck it into the ground close at hand, then knelt on one knee by a shallow pebbly patch of the stream running through the grove. He yanked off his glove to scoop a handful of fresh water to his mouth, his teeth aching at the cold of the liquid. Morgana tucked her skirt around her knees and crouched on her heels, her eyes uneasy, and made no move to join him in a drink.

"What is it?" he said to her, ready to tease her from apprehensive nerves if he had to. She didn't answer, and suddenly Arthur's instincts were on edge as well. He twisted in his crouch to glance back the way they'd come, and could see three of the horses' heads, not fifteen yards away beyond the trees of the grove.

"Arthur," she said suddenly, looking back that way also. "Something's – not right. I can see – no, I can _sense_ –" Arthur watched her, disturbed; his sister was never at a loss for words. "There's – ouch! – _Arthur, look out_!"

He tumbled to the side, off his feet and onto his back, raising his arm in blind defense. The glinting blade slid down the chainmail protecting his arm, plunged into the earth next to his shoulder. He flung one hand out, but the hilt of his own sword was a yard distant. He heard Morgana scream again – a sound more of rage than fear – then yelp like she'd fallen.

Arthur kept rolling – a calculated risk – onto the grounded blade at his shoulder, bending it sideways, depending on his armor to protect him from injury. The weapon's owner – he glimpsed fiery, sunken eyes and a manic grimace – grunted, trying to keep his grip as Arthur's weight wrenched the sword horizontal. _Tauren_, Arthur remembered with a tiny clear space of his mind, released the hilt and in the space of a heartbeat flung himself on top of Arthur – on top of the only weapon within reach – with a dagger.

He gripped the man's wrists desperately, the point of the ten-inch blade another two from his neck. His gloves slipped a fraction; Tauren threw all of his weight behind the knife, grinning into his face, sure of victory. There was no time to plan, there was no space to try.

The mercenary-sorcerer jerked, his face blanking of emotion. His eyes widened briefly, then dulled, as his hand slipped from the hilt. Arthur, confused, looked at the point of a sword emerging from the center of the renegade's filthy clothing, the blood dripping down onto his own armor – then beyond him, at Morgana's disheveled black cloud of hair and stormy green eyes, as she released the hilt of Arthur's sword.

He shoved the attacker to the side even as his body slumped with his last exhalation, and panted at the insensible gray clouds overhead.

"Are you all right?" Morgana asked, bending over him, then offering her hand in its fine leather riding glove to help him to his feet.

He allowed her help. "Are you?" he asked, glancing around to make sure they were safe. For the moment.

She gave him a pale version of her saucy smile. "Well," she said, "it's not every day a girl gets to save her prince…" He laughed and pulled her under his arm for a rough embrace. "He's dead, isn't he," Morgana added, looked at the man blank-eyed and bloody at their feet.

Arthur didn't answer the question; it didn't need an answer, anymore. In the dewy grass just beyond the corpse's limp fingers lay a silver-bound stone of a dull orange color. Morgana stepped around to pick it up as Arthur retrieved and cleaned his sword; it gleamed in her hand and she gazed at it fascinated.

"You probably don't want to handle that too much," Arthur advised, shoving his sword back into his belt. He plucked a small leather pouch from the dead sorcerer's belt and holding it out for his sister to drop the artifact inside. "I don't see any others," he added, looking around them for the band Tauren had been said to lead. "And where the hell is Merlin?"

…..*…..

He could feel his heartbeat, only his heartbeat. Erratic as a wild bird caught indoors somehow by mistake, it fluttered panicked, then flopped back and twitched. He wasn't worried, not really. He felt no pain, no urgency of time passing; he could afford to wait on the calming of his heart.

He heard his name, and memory began to return. A plot against the life of the king – he sighed, there was always a plot against the life of the king, would it be any different when Arthur was king? When Arthur was…

His eyes flew open, and he _felt_ again. He felt as if he'd been smeared on the hillside like preserves on a hard crust of bread, his feet left to soak up the _achingly_ frigid water of the stream.

"Merlin," Arthur repeated, stepping across the rivulet at the bottom of the little gully. Morgana was close behind, gathering her skirt in one hand to join them if needed.

"Tauren?" Merlin said, that urgency suddenly blossoming hot in the center of his chest.

"Dead," Arthur answered, coming to kneel beside him. "The other three?"

He felt, now, a smile pull at his lips. "Dead," he answered. "Tauren – he didn't use magic on you, did he?"

"No, only steel," the prince answered, laying one hand negligently on the center of Merlin's chest. But his eyes were keen, and looked Merlin over thoroughly. "Probably wanted to savor his triumph as close and as long as possible." Morgana snorted and rolled her eyes. "You?"

"A bit," Merlin allowed, with another smile. Arthur moved the staff away from Merlin's hand; it seemed to stick, and sting, for a moment, Merlin's fingers unresponsive. The prince lifted one end of it to show him the shattered, charred end, the crystal destroyed.

"You know, if you can't take care of your toys any better than this, Merlin," Arthur said lightly, teasingly, "you won't be allowed to have them anymore."

Merlin tried filling his lungs, and was able to manage it without the pain he expected. His heart had settled now like a trained falcon on its perch – wary and with only a brief defiant agitation of wings. "Good," he told Arthur. "Damn thing's bad luck, anyway." He lifted his hand and Arthur clasped it to raise him.

"Ready to get up and go home, then?" Arthur steadied him on feet that felt like wood and a hillside that tilted treacherously under him.

He gave his friend a quick upward glance, a pleading grin. "Could I ride this time, please?"

**A/N: Obviously, this ep was the most a/u of all, so far… hopefully you were all pleased with the result…**


	12. Le Morte D'Arthur

**XIII. Le Morte D'Arthur**

Merlin stood in the king's presence, with his eyes shut. Or leaned, was a more appropriate description. He could feel the cool stone of the column against his back, the flagstones under his feet, he could hear the murmur of the men's voices, but in his mind, he was back in the forest. He had relived the events of the early morning half a dozen times in memory already. Trying to figure out… what the hell had happened.

Visibility had been limited due to the fog. The presence of five knights that had accompanied Arthur simultaneously distracted Merlin's attention and lightened his share of responsibility for the prince's safety. Ominous and baffling growls indicated that the creature was itself a predator, boar or bear, maybe, but even Merlin had not been able to formulate a guess as to the identity of the quarry. Without horses or dogs, it was reasonable to assume they'd track such an animal all day before bringing it to bay.

It had reminded him eerily of the day the unicorn had been shot, but the mysterious nature of their prey this time had given him an edgy sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. It should have been a warning, maybe.

Possibly he could blame the illogical reaction of a hunted creature, to attack – and at the very instant that Arthur's head was turned to signal the knights to some plan of action. He could blame the completely unexpected aspect of the beast – like a lizard the size of Aithusa, with a hooded snake's head and forked tongue, and four furry paws.

Distantly he heard Gaius say, "The creature you describe has all the characteristics of the Questing Beast." Uther responded with a characteristic scoff.

All five knights had immediately turned to flee – he and Arthur not far behind. As he sprinted in his prince's wake, he'd sent two defensive spells blindly behind him – with absolutely no effect. It was as if his magic disappeared, or unraveled, or was absorbed by the monster. And then his foot caught. He fell, twisting to his back, as the giant snake's head drew back to strike – and merely hissed a warning. He was so startled that his tongue tangled around the words of the spell. Arms had curled around his own to drag him, lift him, right him.

Gaius added, "It is no ordinary beast – it carries the power of life and death itself. It can neither be deceived nor escaped for long."

As they'd began to run again, his mind had recognized the uselessness of his magic against the creature itself – no wonder, he thought ruefully, hearing his mentor's explanation. He'd wondered if maybe it would not be impervious to side effects of magic – like dropping an entire tree on it, say – and he crashed into Arthur, who'd stopped in the circle of wary knights to stare back the way they'd come.

The creature had been lost in the mist – as had been Sir Bedivere… until an hour ago.

"Then how was it that you escaped?" the king demanded, turning on the recovered knight.

"My lord, I cannot explain," Sir Bedivere responded, "except to say that – it did not seem interested in me."

Merlin interest sharpened at that. For surely the beast had been interested in their party, had chased them down. He met Arthur's eyes, and the prince said, "Gaius, is this beast said to kill indiscriminately?"

"That has never been determined; it appears so rarely," the old physician answered. "However it chooses its prey, one bite is certain death, and there is no cure. It is supposed to foreshadow a time of great upheaval and change – do not dismiss this omen."

"Gaius, that's an old wives' tale," the king said negligently. "Random victims always generate panic."

Arthur rolled his eyes where only Merlin would see, and he responded with a smile, feeling calmer for the prince's gesture of annoyance at their elders – Gaius gave grave caution and Uther mocked, and once again it would be Arthur and Merlin to find a solution.

"Look," the prince interrupted, "whatever it is, it's spreading panic. The people fear it will enter the city."

Merlin had one moment to wonder, if the creature had specific victims it hunted, if the city walls would halt it, when Uther responded, "Then we must kill it. Arthur, gather the guard together, and leave at dawn."

Arthur bowed his obedience and strode from the council chamber. Merlin followed him, reaching to the prince's left hip to draw the sword from its sheath. "What are _you_ going to do with _that_?" Arthur put playful emphasis on the words to tease him.

Merlin smiled. "I just want to try something," he said.

There was no time to call Aithusa, to fly to the cave of Dinas Emrys and retrieve the dragon-breathed sword, not without explanations and probably arguing with Kilgarrah, not without knowing if it would even work against a creature like this. But there were other ways to magically reinforce ordinary weapons.

…..*…..

Arthur stood on the last step, facing the knights in the courtyard in the gray chill that lingered, waiting for the first light of sun to dispel it. He was dressed in full armor, as they were, but it was his privilege to choose to discard the long red cape – which he did routinely. Merlin was on the second step, silently behind and beside, Arthur's replacement sword in his arms.

"You've seen the foe we face," Arthur said, addressing his men as a unit, but seeking out the five who'd been with him the previous day. "It's a creature of nightmare. But you are the best knights in the realm. We can and we will kill it before it harms another citizen of our kingdom." He reached to accept the sword from Merlin, and as he slid it into the sheath at his side, a voice cried out from the door at the top of the stair.

"Arthur!" It was Morgana, and she sounded terrified.

Arthur turned to see his half-sister, still in her nightdress, her feet bare and her hair tangled, as she flew down the steps to him.

"Morgana, what are you doing?" he said in confusion. She flung herself at him, clutching his upper arms, and he could feel the strength of her desperation in spite of the chainmail.

"You cannot face it!" she insisted. "You cannot go – I won't let you!"

He said gently, trying to free himself from her grasp - he didn't have a choice, anyway – "There is nothing to be afraid of, you know that Merlin and the knights –"

"Please, Arthur," she said, not a bit reassured, "I have seen - terrible things."

Merlin's fingers succeeded where his had not, easing her grip loose. She clutched at the young sorcerer as he encouraged her retreat. "Another dream," he explained to Arthur, "Gaius can look after her." Two guards descended in a concerned rush to take charge of the distraught princess; Arthur heard his friend tell Morgana in a low but confident tone, "I will make sure he is safe, my lady. I promise." It seemed to calm her, though she let herself drop to sitting on the stairs to watch them off. She didn't smile or wave; she was very pale.

Arthur led the warriors to the place in the forest where they'd encountered the creature previously, and they left the horses. Battle-trained as they were, dumb beasts could not be expected to face such an unnatural monster without panic. The men were a different matter, of course, their courage proven for such times as these. Even when they found the single track, so deeply laid in the mud that water had filled pad- and toe-marks, fully two feet across, there was no faltering.

Soon they were able to follow the same grumbling growl they'd heard before, cautious of another attack, but they reached the mouth of a cave where the noises echoed unchecked. Arthur crouched to peer into the darkness, anticipating his eyes' adjusting, as Merlin lit the torches he'd carried with a word of magic.

Then he passed Arthur to take the lead into the dark depths of the earth, and Arthur couldn't help a wry grin. He didn't need to see the determined look in his friend's eyes or the set of his shoulders to tell him that Merlin was intent on honoring his promise to the princess. Without which, it would still have felt entirely natural to be following this young sorcerer, light in hand, down the dark throat of an underground tunnel. He was content to follow – for now.

In the desperate headlong rout of the previous morning, Arthur had glanced over his shoulder to see Merlin's eyes gleam golden more than once, trying to use magic against the beast that hunted them. He'd seen the troubled reserve the young sorcerer had been lost in much of the rest of the day, and guessed that for whatever reason, Merlin's power had proved ineffective against this particular creature. It was why the younger man had borrowed his sword to enchant; it was why Arthur fully intended on placing himself between this Questing Beast and his friend, when the time came.

The tunnel split, and Arthur signaled the knights to take the left-hand fork, while he followed Merlin down the right, trusting the young sorcerer's sense – and knowing that the weapon in his hand probably had the best chance of killing the monster.

Above the soft crunching of their boots on the tunnel floor, he heard a faint hissing that seemed to come from behind them. He stopped and turned, seeing nothing but the flicker of torchlight over the rough cave walls – the tunnel was not the smooth regular passage of Dinas Emrys, but one of many through a warren that opened above and below as well as left and right. It could very well have maneuvered behind them.

Merlin lifted the torch slightly. "What is it?" he whispered.

The tiny warning clatter of a pebble dislodged combined with the hint of a moving shadow – an _enormous_ shadow – the snake's head struck from _above_ them. He shoved Merlin down a bit of slope with his left hand as he swung the sword in his right.

The blade never found its mark. Hot agony shot through his left shoulder; his feet left the tunnel floor and the light was snuffed out.

…..*…..

Merlin stood halfway across the courtyard, where his feet had stopped when the king's legs had buckled under the weight of his unconscious son and the knights had rushed forward to take the precious burden. He wanted more than anything to follow, to remain at his prince's side, but there was nothing for him to do there. Sooner or later Uther would remember him, remember why he tolerated Merlin's presence in Camelot, and demand a miracle Merlin could not produce. Not this time.

He looked down at his hands, the red of Arthur's blood dried dark and smeared in the creases of his palm and fingers. They trembled slightly, still, at the shock of kneeling over his friend's body – _It didn't bite you, did it?_ – trembled from the outpouring of his magic. _Gestathole. Thurhhaele_. And no result – the wounds inflicted as impervious to his magic as the beast itself.

Stumbling to the steps, he crouched on the lowest, his back to the base of the mounted statue. Arthur's enchanted blade had worked, as Merlin had hoped. But instead of Arthur wielding it to triumph over the monster, it had been his magic, aiming the blade fallen from the prince's hand. Too late.

_He can't die_, Merlin told himself. _There is prophecy yet to be fulfilled_. But he was quite sure there would be no elderly sorcerer to reassure him that Arthur only slept. He already knew what Gaius' diagnosis would be – _the bite of the Questing Beast is a death sentence that no magic can overturn._

Closing his eyes, he settled himself to call to the oldest of his kin, his despair spilling out of him. _Kilgarrah, I have failed Arthur – he was bitten by the Questing Beast_.

He did not have long to wait for a response. Their relative positions did not make a difference, he could have heard the great dragon from twice the distance between Camelot and Dinas Emrys. _While he still breathes, there is still time to heal him.  
I thought healing a bite from this beast was impossible._

_ And yet you tried anyway._

Merlin snorted to himself. He sometimes still resented that Kilgarrah could glean such details from his life unbeknownst to him. _What do I do?_

_ It will not be easy._

_ It never is. I will do anything, Kilgarrah, you know that – only tell me, and I will do it._

_ The Questing Beast is a creature conjured by the powers of the Old Religion, the magic of the earth itself, the essence which binds all things together. You must use the same ancient magic to save him._

_ How?_

_ The Priestesses on their Isle still serve this magic. The High Priestess holds dominion over life and death. _Merlin clenched his jaw and did not say her name. Did not ask if the Beast had been aimed at Arthur the way the afanc and the chalice had been. If he wanted to save Arthur… Kilgarrah added, _Merlin, the young Pendragon must live, no matter what the cost._

_ No matter what the cost_, Merlin repeated back to him. If they demanded a life for a life, and so to keep the balance, he was fully prepared to pay that price. _Aithusa? _he called then._ I need a favor – meet me outside the city; you will know where._

"Merlin?" Gaius said, quite close. He blinked up at the old physician hovering on the stair just above him, stern and sympathetic. "I'm going to make a tonic to ease his passing. If you want to say goodbye –"

"Keep him alive until I get back," Merlin said firmly, and waited for the look of uncomprehending agreement on the old man's face before lurching to his feet. As he began to sprint across the courtyard, he could hear the voice of his mentor calling after him.

As he dodged his way through the busy lower town, he wordlessly queried the younger white dragon on his location, guessing the time it would take them both to reach the clearing just southeast of Camelot. It was daytime, a risk he would have to take. There was no time to be lost, and if it meant facing judgment from Uther for having one of his kin cause panic in the kingdom, so be it.

After five years with the dragon, growing up physically, growing closer mentally, they were attuned in a way he never would be with Kilgarrah. He didn't even slow as he panted his way up the slight rise; Aithusa dropped his right shoulder for Merlin to make the first leap before he rose into the air with a thrust of powerful hind legs and unfurled wings both, his momentum helping rather than hindering Merlin's balance.

An unspoken question arose in his mind, and he answered, "The Isle of the Blessed, where the priestesses live." And work, and worship, and plot.

Aithusa did not hesitate, banking sharply to the east, the great wings flapping rhythmically to gain altitude and speed, both. The wind whistled through Merlin's hair and the edges of his jacket, teasing tears from the corners of his eyes. _They will not want you there_, Aithusa said, speaking telepathically as was their way when airborne. _They will not want me there_.

_As close as you can get me, then_, Merlin suggested. If he'd stopped to question Gaius about the protocol involved in visiting the mystical island, he was sure his mentor would have tried to argue against the idea. It was the difference, he saw, between Gaius and Kilgarrah. The old physician had seen too much of what could not be changed, lived his life too closely to the natural rules of science and medicine. Kilgarrah, on the other hand, had lived half a dozen of Gaius' lifetimes; he was much more willing to admit that an expected outcome might be averted by magic. For all his cryptic insinuations, Merlin thought the old dragon might have the best idea of all of them, what he himself was capable of.

Sometimes that frightened him. Sometimes that gave him hope.

_Yonder_, Aithusa said. His great wings still beat strongly, speeding them along. Merlin could feel the great bellows of his lungs working steadily through their contact; he raised his head as the white dragon gave a smoky snort and tipped his wings vertical to glide in to the shore.

The surface of the water was ripple and mist, the island seeming to rise in silence and solitude. He gripped the back ridge of Aithusa's skull as the younger dragon chose a stretch of bank and slowed to land with a rush. Merlin tumbled down almost as soon as the dragon's claws touched grass, and ducked the folding sail of the white wing, skidding down the bank to the water's edge.

There was a long narrow dock and a long narrow boat, but no attendant. Merlin stepped into the vessel; there were no oars, either. He supposed that kept ordinary people from showing up unannounced among the priestesses – if there were any that had ever wanted to, that is. For other magic-users like him, the lack of propulsion was not a problem.

"Call if you need me to come for you," Aithusa said from the bank. "Don't anger them, my friend. You need them. Arthur needs them."

Merlin acknowledged his kin's advice with a nod, and spoke the spell to set the small craft in motion, "_Astyre_."

He had taken many odd trips in his life. His magic within him was alert, but the worry for Arthur's life and the uncertainty of what he'd find on the island did not blind him to the beauty of the place – the surface serenity, the subtle depths. Nearer the island, where the stone walls rose from the very edge of the lily-choked water, Merlin felt the boat nudge slyly away from his control, and let it. Now merely a passenger rather than the craft's pilot, he rode to a small doorway framing an upward stair, the bottom step awash at the boat's approach; it halted, the invitation clear.

He ascended the stairway, came out into a passage leading one direction only – to a central courtyard, grassy and bare. Standing stones circled an altar with a paved skirt; Merlin stopped, not wishing to trespass in a place sacred to an order of females. But… there was no one there. He listened, and heard nothing – no voices, no footfalls.

"Hello?" he tried tentatively.

"Hello, Merlin." He turned, and there she was at the altar. He'd seen her twice – in a shoulder-baring servant's dress and blue turban, in a disguising lavender-gray cloak at the edge of the circle where Uther fought a wraith – and she maintained the illusion of a beautiful mysterious girl. But she was not surprised to see him.

"Nimueh," he said evenly. Her smile widened. "You know what I've come to ask?" he added. He found it bitterly ironic that he must plead for help in saving Arthur's life to the woman who'd tried to kill them both.

She tipped her head coyly. "Yes."

He took two steps closer, his pulse quickening. "Will you do it?"

"I do not have the power to mirror life itself and yet give nothing in return," she said. "To save a life, there must be a death to balance it."

No matter what the cost. "I knew there would be a price," he said. "I willingly give my life for Arthur's."

She laughed mockingly. "How brave you are, Merlin. If only it were that simple."

Why was it not? "What do you mean? Whatever I have to do, I will do. His life is worth a hundred of mine."

"You really mean that," she said, a hint of surprise showing. But she did not answer his question. "Once you enter the bargain, it cannot be undone." She reached sideways to the empty altar, and her hand grasped a silver chalice. His heart stuttered a warning of betrayal, and she must have caught something of his hesitation, for she held it out to him. "The cup of life," she explained. "Blessed by centuries of powerful sorcery, so that it contains the very secret of life itself. If Arthur drinks water from the cup he will live." That promise drew him close enough to reach for the goblet; she released it to his grip willingly enough.

"You will spare my life to bring it to him," Merlin said, still unsure that their bargain had been to the terms he'd stated.

"Oh, yes." Her lips curved in a predatory way that unsettled him further, then she threw back her head and spoke a rain-spell. The effect was immediate, and surprising – rain poured from a spiral of dark clouds, drenching him and spattering into the cup, leaving standing stones and altar and High Priestess dry. "The bargain is struck," she said with no little satisfaction.

He retreated without turning his back on her; she watched him go with amusement, and he still saw no other.

…..*…..

Arthur woke to an involuntary swallow of water. He heard voices, faint and far away. _What is it_, one said. _Water from the cup of life_, the other answered. The same sweet liquid cooled his lips and mouth again; he swallowed again. _Whose life did you bargain?_ the first demanded.

The other – Merlin, he recognized – made a noise of impatient disappointment.

Arthur opened his eyes. Above him was the canopy of his own bed – and Merlin. He realized that he was essentially lying in Merlin's lap, his shoulders supported on his friend's bent leg, his head cradled in the strong hands and long fingers of the physician's apprentice. An odd smell lingered, something like hot metal, something that made him think of the cave beneath Dinas Emrys. The younger man's hair was windblown, his skin grimy.

But Merlin's eyes were absolutely _radiant_.

"It _worked_," he said, easing Arthur back down to the pillow. He looked up, and Arthur followed his gaze to Gaius' censorious frown. Merlin repeated defensively, "It worked."

His body felt heavy and warm, his injured left shoulder stiff but lacking in the tearing agony he'd felt at the creature's attack. Gaius rounded the bed to lean over him, fumble at the wrappings of the bandage. Arthur felt relaxed and unworried; of course Merlin had managed somehow to heal him in spite of his mentor's statement of the fatality of the beast's bite. And they were here in his bedchamber, both of them safe. He closed his eyes again and drifted, though he did not sleep.

"How long do you have?" the physician demanded. That confused Arthur – Merlin's time belonged to Gaius, the younger man could spend as much time as Gaius allowed at Arthur's side. Merlin didn't answer, and Arthur quit trying to figure it out.

He heard his father's voice, questioning the physician, congratulating him. He opened his eyes to see a genuine smile on his father's face, and made an attempt to match it. "I'll inform the court that their prince will live," his father said, excusing himself from the room again.

Will live. Had it been that bad, then?

The glow of the room dimmed as the candles were snuffed, and he was surprised to find that it was quite dark – sometime in the night. Gaius settled himself into the chair at the bedside, Merlin reclined atop the coverlet at the edge of Arthur's bed, leaning over his crossed arms. Arthur meant to make a sarcastic comment about the younger man's dirty boots, but sleep interrupted his thought.

Some time later Morgana's voice broke through the pleasant fog of slumber, saying something about a dream. _Your mother_, she said – speaking to Merlin, of course. Neither Gaius nor he had a mother yet living. _Very ill_.

Concern drifted through his mind, as Gaius' voice, then Merlin's, joined the murmur. He remembered Hunith's hand brushing his hair, soft and motherly, the warm welcome and care they'd received in Ealdor, the brave strength she'd shown in helping to fight Kanen's bandits.

"I have to save her!" That sharp note of anxiety drew Arthur's eyes open; it was a tone altogether wrong for his friend. Gaius's reply was indistinct, but Merlin answered in the same tone, "If the balance of the world needs a life, then she must take mine."

He gazed upward at the rich red of the bed canopy, hearing only part of Morgana's suggestion, "Just wait… talk to my… maybe she can help."

"No, I'll go now."

Arthur turned his head on his pillow. Merlin stood in front of the open window, his arms crossed, his face visible only in profile. Morgana in her nightgown and wrapper, and Gaius in his wrinkled blue robe stood as if to block him from leaving.

"You are young," the old physician said – if it had been anyone else, Arthur would have described the tone as pleading. "Your gifts, your destiny, are far to precious to sacrifice –"

"My destiny?" Merlin said, letting his arms fall to his sides. "This is my _mother_. My powers mean nothing if I cannot save her."

"Merlin," Arthur said. His voice sounded no more than a croaky whisper to his ears, but his friend turned, and smiled at him. "If your mother is sick… and I am getting well… you must go."

"Arthur," Gaius protested, and Morgana said at the same time, "No, Arthur, you don't understand –"

"Gaius," Merlin said in a tone he rarely used. "You have taught me so much – most of all you have always taught me to do what is right." The old physician reached for Merlin's sleeve, but the young sorcerer slipped away, turning to give Arthur one of his wide grins. "Thank you, Arthur – for everything."

"_Merlin_," Morgana said desperately. Merlin retreated from her as well, without losing Arthur's gaze.

"Don't spend the treasure all at once," his friend said teasingly, but his joke was incomprehensible to Arthur in his weary state. Then he turned, graceful in the alacrity of his movements, and leaped up to the window – through the window.

Arthur's heart seized, as Gaius called out and Morgana rushed to lean out. A second later she turned back to them with a disapproving roll of her eyes. "Aithusa," she said. Gaius huffed his censure, but Arthur wasn't bothered. Of course if Hunith was sick then Merlin needed to be on his way as soon as possible, even to the point of disregarding the king'd strictures about dragons near the capital.

"He'll be back," Arthur remarked into the room. His eyelids felt heavy once again, and there was no sign of morning at the window. He sank back into the comfort of sleepy darkness once again.

…..*…..

Aithusa was not happy. Not at being called to fly into the city itself, so close to Uther's citadel – not at having to essentially catch Merlin as he jumped. And though he didn't offer a protest, he was not happy to hear of their destination.

That was all right. Merlin was far from happy himself.

_Kilgarrah_, he growled out telepathically, organizing his limbs around Aithusa's. _Did you know?_

_ I warned you, young warlock_, the great dragon answered firmly, unrepentant_. I told you it would not be easy. You said you would do anything – no matter the cost._

_ I'm going back to the island_, he informed the ancient creature. _If there is anything else that you didn't tell me, that I need to know, now would be an excellent time!_

After a pause, Kilgarrah returned, _Remember prophecy, young dragonlord. Death will not prevent its fulfillment, either yours or the Pendragon's; I knew this. _

_ Did she know this? Did she send the Questing Beast after Arthur knowing what I would have to do to accomplish his salvation?_

_ You have left a dangerous enemy at your backs for too long._

_ So to force a confrontation, you sent me to beg help from one who would twist my words and take my mother's life? _he snarled, and cut off the contact so abruptly that Aithusa flinched midflight.

_Tread carefully, brother_, the white dragon said, and before too long he added, _We approach_.

The first fingers of dawn reached over the surface of the lake, teasing through the mist and gilding the moss-blackened stone of the island's fortress. Aithusa's wings, outstretched to glide, tilted to take them down to the bank, as before.

_No_, Merlin said. Perhaps use of the boat was intended to trigger a warning to the isle's inhabitants; perhaps he was too impatient, or wary, to use it again. Or just too angry. _Take me right to the island, right to the center courtyard. You will see where I mean._

_ Merlin_… The younger dragon's sense was trusting resignation, a determination to obedient protection. He tucked his wings and plummeted like a dropped stone for the grassy courtyard, growing larger every second they dropped. Merlin clung to his skull-ridge, clamping his legs tighter around the leathery white neck so his lighter weight did not cause him to float free, falling at a slower rate than his winged companion. At the last moment possible the white sails snapped out, catching the air to slow them enough to land in an earth-shuddering crouch.

This time, they were not alone. A crowd of females, over a hundred if he could trust such a swift calculation, ringed the grassy courtyard and its standing stones and altar. Young girls in uniform gray-lavender dress, older women in more individualized clothing. The magic he felt was myriad – startled and wary, ancient and new, innocent and deep. His own magic rose in recognition, in response… and waited.

Aithusa moved only to deliberately shift his wings; familiar with the character and physical make-up of his younger kin, Merlin recognized that the dragon simultaneously recovered from their fall and prepared to launch himself skyward again at a second's notice. He stayed still also, turning only his head, presenting no further threat. They watched him; he watched them.

After giving them a moment to adjust to the appearance of a young dragon and a warlock on their island, he spoke one word, in a clear and carrying voice. "Nimueh."

"Merlin."

His name was spoken in the same coy lilt as before; he'd kept the altar at the corner of his vision but suddenly she was there. He focused on her; she sent a glance around the courtyard that seemed to resent an audience. She lifted her hands and opened her mouth, but was interrupted by one of the women, stepping forward to the standing stones a breath before several others did the same, though they came no closer than that boundary. The first woman looked to be approaching thirty years of age, her wavy blonde hair long and unbound down her back. She held Nimueh's eyes for a second, or for an eternity, then the High Priestess tossed her head as if she'd lost an argument but affected not to care.

Conflicting currents. Cold water runs deep. He might have felt apprehension then – but he was a son of fire. And angry. He slid down from Aithusa's neck and took several steps closer to Nimueh.

"I bid _my_ life for Arthur's," he said to her.

Her red lips curved sensually, as though they were alone, as before. "So you did," she said. "To save a life, a life must be taken – but the Old Religion does not care who lives or dies, only that the balance of the world is maintained."

"You lie," he said, and felt rather than heard the collective intake of breath from the surrounding females. Aithusa shifted his weight. "There are a very few lives the Old Religion has decreed untouchable in service of destiny, is that not so?" Pendragon and Emrys…

She leaned one hip against the altar, trailing her fingers along its surface. "Not untouchable," she said, her blue eyes glinting bright and dangerous. "_Hyran scolde, Merlin_."

His knees buckled as if they'd pitch him into a kneeling position, a band of dread circled his heart as he caught himself in an awkward crouch, his arms outstretched as if just regaining his balance after tripping. Behind him Aithusa hissed and dug his claws into the earth beneath the grass. Merlin pushed himself upright with an effort; she crooked her finger and he took several absolutely involuntary steps toward her before wrestling his limbs back into submission to his own will.

"By all means, keep fighting," she invited with a cruel eagerness.

"What have you done?" He forced strength into his voice to keep it from coming out as a fearful gasp. That spell ought not be so strong without the victim's willing compliance.

"You gave me your life in return for my help in sparing Arthur's," she reminded him.

"My life, not my mother's," he returned. His heart was pounding; he remembered thinking momentarily what servitude to another would mean, facing Bayard of Mercia before the poison was proved and he dropped unconscious to the floor of Camelot's banqueting hall. Had he now sworn himself to Nimueh? Would such an oath hold if it had not been intentional, if his magic had already been promised in service to Arthur Pendragon? What did she want of him? He could not be kept away from his prince, but if she sent him back to Camelot able to command his obedience, the results could be disastrous.

"You said, Arthur's life is worth a hundred of yours," she said. She tipped her chin down, and the band around his heart squeezed painfully. He found himself clutching at the front of his shirt to ease the feeling. "Come now, we are too valuable to each other to be enemies, Merlin Emrys. Together, we can rule the world."

Aithusa nudged a thought at the back of his consciousness. A question he'd flung at the great dragon in careless anger. "Did you conjure the Questing Beast?" he said.

The agitation that spread among the women was like a sudden wind tossing in long grass or over rippling waves. The sorceress with long wavy blonde hair took another step forward. "Nimueh," she spoke for the first time, and repeated Merlin's question, "Did you conjure the Questing Beast? Did you send it for the younger Pendragon to draw Emrys here, to entrap his power?"

The dark-haired beauty raised a triumphant eyebrow at the other woman and snapped her fingers. Merlin's body dropped to its knees, and the blonde woman glanced down at him with horror growing in her dark eyes.

His blood throbbed fiery from his heart, through his veins; he heard a draconic growling and didn't know whether it came from Aithusa or himself. A barrage of images assaulted his memory, the faces of those he held dear… the faces of the unknown innocents who'd suffered from this woman's plotting… those he'd been forced to kill, to protect his kin – Gaius and Arthur and Morgana and Hunith, the kingdom whole. And now he was to become the enemy?

No. Take magic's soul to all men's cost…

He put his hand down on the ground, feeling the grass damp and prickly under his palm, and pushed himself up to standing, facing the High Priestess. "You should not have hurt my friend," he told her. "_Astrice_!"

She caught his fireball easily on the back of her hand, and smiled. And in spite of her youthful figure and face, he remembered that she'd held her position for decades – even ignorant of the studying and struggling necessary to reach the pinnacle of their society, he realized it would not have been accomplished easily or nicely. He felt a child with a toy weapon in the center of a battlefield.

"By all means, keep fighting," she repeated mockingly, raising her own hand. "_Forbearne_!"

He dodged the projectile formed of his own element with ease, but felt a whisper of the obedience spell tangle in his feet, and he tumbled to the grass. Aithusa leaned forward, muscles bunching in readiness like a pouncing cat; the blonde sorceress raised her hands to prepare a defense, and Merlin roared out, _Hold! The witch alone is our enemy! _None of the others had moved, either to attack or to defend; he had the vague idea this was something like the single combat of Arthur's knights' code.

He scrambled to his feet as Nimueh spoke again, thrusting her hand forward, "_Acwele_!"

His heart had withstood two such attacks, from the blue lightning shot from the sidhe staff. This time he deliberately prevented his magic from forming the shield. Merlin felt himself thrown backwards, felt the unyielding band around his heart release, as he'd hoped.

Free now of Nimueh's spell, he drew _lightning_! from the whirlwind of his thoughts, and directed his magic upward. His storm spell was twice as fast and twice as violent as that of the High Priestesses for being unfamiliar to him, but control was instinctive. What was lightning, after all, but another form of fire? He spoke no spell, but called the killing bolt down from the clouds to the very center of the courtyard.

Whatever counter-curse or new attack Nimueh had planned reacted very badly with the surge of fiery energy – she had no time even to scream before her body burst apart as had the sidhe, blazing scraps extinguished by the suddenly pouring rain.

Merlin relaxed on the wet grass, content to squint through the falling drops into the maelstrom of clouds he'd called. Aithusa extended one wing to protect him from the deluge, and he turned his head to keep his gaze on the sky rather than the delicate webbing of the dragon's wing.

The blonde sorceress stood near, looking down on him. "Merlin Emrys," she said, her smile holding a secret triumph. "You have given me a gift, in the death of our former High Priestess. As unintentional as that was, I will give you a gift in return – Nimueh's life will be the balance for your mother's. When next you see her, you will find her cured of her illness."

"Thank you," he said, bemused.

"The Questing Beast is not to be released at the whim of one person," the sorceress told him. "It is a creature of the Old Religion too dangerous and too volatile to be used for private revenge or political machinations. The Cup of Life belongs to all, and to no one. It is a scale for balancing life and death, that is true, but cannot be bargained with, as Nimueh would have indicated. The life taken would be of someone of equal value to the petitioner as the life given in return, do you understand?"

He thought he did, and was again angry enough to sit up, absently noting the smoking hole in the front of his shirt, absently fingering it to find unblemished flesh and bone underneath. "As petitioner, my life would not be taken," he said. "To reclaim Arthur's life, I would have to give up someone I cared about just as much?"

"That is correct."

"How then can her life be exchanged for my mother's?"

She smiled at him and offered her hand to help him up. He hesitated, but only for a second. She was strong, wiry – just as ruthless as Nimueh, he saw in her dark eyes, but more honest about it. "In a way, the High Priestess is the mother of us all," she told him, sweeping her arm to indicate the few women still scurrying for shelter from Merlin's storm. "I joined with you in the bargain, giving my mother in return for yours."

He watched her warily, rain dripping down his face from his hair. "A favor?" he said carefully.

She laughed, turning her face up to the rain. He thought she could probably call an end to his storm more easily than he could, in the moment, but that she had her own reasons for allowing the downpour to continue. Privacy, maybe – the courtyard was deserted once again. "You can call it so," she said. "And in return, you can do me a favor. The Lady Morgana is my half-sister." He gaped at her; he'd known in a vague way that Morgana's sister studied on the priestesses' isle, but would never had picked the fair-haired woman out of the crowd as a relative of the princess. "I would ask that you watch over her… give her aid and instruction to the best of your abilities in the circumstances you find yourself in."

He knew what she meant. Magic. "Her father will not be happy with either of us," he said.

Her dark eyes gleamed. "Then let him not find out."

**A/N: So there's season 1. Whew. This is one of my favorite eps, and two scenes I did not want to mess with were Merlin's farewell to Arthur, and Gaius offering his life in Merlin's place. Hope this reads as a decent replacement.**

**Apologies also to readers who wish for chapter endings that feel a little more complete. But this is essentially a collection of short stories (and I don't usually write short stories) both episodic and serial… these eps sometimes have abrupt endings also; I'll leave comfort/friendship/welcome home scenes to your imagination, instead of repeating them every time…**

**I've decided to continue on through season 2, though there will be more eps skipped or significantly reduced or farther a/u… it'll be okay, though, we'll get to part 2 quicker that way (current working title **_**The Lionys Towers**_**).**


	13. The Curse of Cornelius Sigan

**I. The Curse of Cornelius Sigan**

Winter was a season of death – always had been and always would be. Gaius, and therefore Merlin, were busier during the winter than any other season, though mostly the illness they dealt with was common, expected and shared. It took very little from them mentally, the diagnoses straightforward and the treatments and tonics mixed in large batches for easier distribution. It took a little more, though, physically and emotionally, as the calls for the physician or his assistant doubled or sometimes tripled for any given day.

The day they were called to the excavations, however, was very different.

Caves had been discovered by exploring youngsters, who told stories of carved pillars. In the winter season, such tales were sufficient to pique royal interest, and provided excellent employment to those who needed it, the quarrying work being below-ground and therefore out of the elements.

Work came to an abrupt halt, however, the day a vault was discovered and a healthy young worker dropped dead at the site. His panicked fellows reported to their supervisor, who reported to the king, a cursed treasure had been uncovered. Uther had sent for his court physician and resident expert on sorcery, who of course brought his apprentice along as well.

Merlin followed Gaius down the torch-lit tunnel and into the chamber, where they both paused.

It was not the first time he'd been inside a hidden treasure chamber. But where the dragonlords' wealth had been neatly packed and stored, this burial vault – for a stone tomb provided the central focus for the room – flaunted its riches in garish displays. Two ravens fully three feet high sculpted of a polished black stone brooded opposite one another; golden urns and pitchers of all sizes ranged about, interspersed with open coffers of coin and gem. And none so large as the strange blue jewel set in the breast of the prone statue carved on the lid of the sarcophagus.

Merlin thought suddenly of a crowded tavern, two merchants at either end of the bar. One dressed conservatively, drawing no attention, gems sewn safely into the seams of clothing, the full purse hidden carefully. The other boasted his wealth, flashing gaudy ornaments, taunting would-be thieves to try to rob – and lose a hand in the attempt. This treasure chamber was the latter merchant, luring the unwary. It stank of intrigue, and his magic stirred uneasily in the center of his chest, alert and wary.

"Do you know whose tomb this is?" Merlin asked.

Gaius grunted. "Not sure."

Merlin trailed his mentor to the body slumped next to the coffin's base, dividing his attention between the sense of menacing temptation and the curious lure of the blue stone. Gaius knelt over the man's body; the old physician pushed the corpse onto its back, then drew back swiftly. The man's skin was dead gray, the eyes - pitch black circled by a bloodshot red -and mouth both frozen wide open.

"How do you think he died?" Merlin asked, horrified.

"A poison seems most likely. We won't know for sure," Gaius said, pushing himself to his feet, "until we –" He stepped nearer the coffin, and the stone beneath his foot depressed.

There was a whisper of movement, and Merlin reacted instantly, lifting one of the large golden platters as a shield over his mentor. Something struck the dish with a metallic clang with enough force to dent the soft gold, and a dart dropped to the ground.

Merlin plucked the dish from the air, turning it to examine the mark, as Gaius bent to retrieve the dart. "Well," Gaius said. "The poor man seems to have unwittingly triggered a trap." He raised one eyebrow at Merlin.

"To deter grave robbers?" Merlin frowned around the room. Why arrange the wealth so conspicuously if visitors were greeted with such a ghastly death?

He thought again of the dragonlords' treasure, hidden under Dinas Emrys, invisible to those without magic, guarded by the oldest of the dragons. This treasure was guarded also, it seemed to him – but who was it waiting for? Some worthy descendent? A thief clever enough to avoid the death-traps and therefore worthy of the reward?

He said to Gaius, "Do you think it's cursed?"

…..*…..

Arthur was always bored in the winter.

The weather did not allow, most days, for an outdoorsman's pursuits, and he'd long since completed the necessary formal education. There were no visits from other nobility, and though Morgana's time at her mother's estate in the south had dropped from half the year to the three months of winter when she'd come of age, she hadn't yet returned. His other friends among the young knights had been with him so long there was nothing new to be said, and always there was the memory of the difference in their status.

This year, he thought, he had Merlin. Surely the winter daylight hours wouldn't drag as they always did for him – and he was surprised to be wrong. When Merlin wasn't helping Gaius with patients or mixing medicines he was deeply involved in the book studies set him by the physician. Arthur had never seen anyone concentrate like the young sorcerer did, and the conversations that he managed to lure his friend into were often distracted and sometimes annoyingly one-sided.

But this week, the faintest hint of spring had been in the air, and Arthur knew just the thing to get the blood pumping – both his and Merlin's.

Hunting.

He wasn't stupid, of course he'd spoken to Gaius about his plan beforehand, especially after the odd interruption of the worker's death at the excavation site. _Yes, go, and take Merlin_, the old man had said. _I have research to do, and it will do him good to get out and clear his head._

Arthur jogged down the front courtyard stairway, fitting his gloves on his hands; one of the stable attendants was just beginning to lead his horse across the paving stones. Merlin was already mounted, though slumped in his saddle as if tired or bored, and dropped his shoulder to look back and down at Arthur.

"Hunting, Arthur, really?" he said, with a trace of his usual insouciance. Arthur grinned, and Merlin took that as encouragement to continue. "You've got half a dozen men going with you, beaters and spearmen alike, why do you need me?"

"I don't need you, not a bit," Arthur returned. "I just enjoy torturing you with a bit of fresh air and exercise."

Merlin snorted. "Do you honestly not remember the last time we went hunting?"

Arthur's smile slipped a bit. By the time he'd recovered from the bite of the Questing Beast enough for his father to consider sanctioning another such outing, the first snow of winter had fallen, and all such plans were put on hold. "Oh, it wasn't that bad," he scoffed.

Merlin gave him an aggravated look. "You almost lost your life, and I almost lost my –" His expression blanked as he deliberately suppressed the last of his intended remark.

"What was it you almost lost, Merlin?" Arthur goaded him, as the attendant led his mount to him, and Arthur fit his left foot in the stirrup in preparation to mount. "Your lunch? Your wits? Your sense of humor?"

"My soul?" Merlin snapped back.

Arthur didn't have the chance to process the idea fully; as the stirrup took his full weight, the girth slipped. His gelding, as eager for the exercise as he was after months of sedate side-yard walking, used the excuse of the shifting saddle to kick his heels and bolt. Arthur, caught off-guard and by the boot-heel, pitched to the ground.

His father's admonitions about the dignity of royalty echoing through his embarrassment, he heard a sound that he hadn't realized he's been missing for quite some time, until he heard it again. Merlin laughing. Not just a quiet chuckle, but a full-out helpless kind of hilarity.

It would have been fine, had it been the two of them alone.

But there were half a dozen waiting huntsmen, as well as a couple of stablemen, quite a few other servants passing through the courtyard, even a few townspeople loitering for one reason or another. All of whom had seen the crown prince tossed on his backside and the skinny young apprentice in full-throated mirth over it.

He scrambled up, growling, "_Merlin_!"

Everyone else had the courtesy or the good sense to affect not to have seen the mishap. The stranger who'd caught his runaway mount kept his eyes respectfully lowered as he walked the prancing beast back to its master. But Merlin – tears of hilarity sparkled in his eyes, and his grin still split his face in half.

"I've taken the liberty of doing your girth up properly, my lord," the stranger announced. His dark hair was even longer and shaggier than Merlin's, the gauntness of his face only partially concealed by sparse unshaven whiskers. His teeth were crooked and his eyes tended to bulge, but he was every inch the courteous underling – everything that Merlin was not, and never would be. Over Arthur's thanks, the stranger gave a little bow and murmured, "It's an honor to be of service to the prince."

"An honor," Arthur repeated, raising his eyebrow at his young friend, who was anything but impressed. "Hear that, Merlin?"

"Allow me the honor of brushing your clothes down," the stranger continued, doing just that, picking a speck of dirt from Arthur's shoulder. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sire?"

Arthur mouthed at the young sorcerer still mounted, _The honor_. Merlin had the temerity to roll his eyes, and Arthur was immediately determined to keep this man around as long as possible, if only to annoy his more unconventional friend. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Cedric. I've come to Camelot in search of work."

Perfect. "Good, you can be a beater on the hunt, we're short of a man or two," Arthur said.

…..*…..

Merlin was perfectly miserable. It was still quite cold, this early in spring, and because the ground had begun to thaw, the moisture soon began to soak into his boots. He scuffed through the underbrush and the season's first new growth, swinging his rod in front of him negligently, as much to scare away whatever rabbits might have ventured from their burrows or ground fowl attempting to take refuge as flush it for the hunters.

He'd rather be with Gaius in his chambers, getting a crick in his neck from bending over dusty books for research purposes, or mixing foul-smelling and sometimes dangerous concoctions in the search of the exact poison used on the darts from the crypt. It would not have been so bad were he and Arthur alone, riding casually and slowly, not really concerned about having results to show for a morning's hunting trip, just enjoying a few hours of relaxation and quiet and leaving responsibility behind.

But. With this many other men along on the trip, and after his unfortunate fall in the courtyard – Merlin snickered a little to himself, but if it had been him to fall, Arthur would have laughed much longer and harder and how was that fair? - Arthur was demonstrating full crown-prince manners. Merlin himself was somewhat outside Arthur's authority, as the physician's apprentice, along on the trip for fun or for rendering whatever medical aid became necessary, but as he did not carry spear or bow, he had his choice of beating the underbrush or watching the horses. And at the very least, he needed to watch over Arthur's safety.

Distracted and disgruntled, Merlin was taken as much by surprise as the rest, at the charge of the giant wild boar.

For one heart-freezing second, his startled vision presented him with an image of a great lizard-beast, with hooded head and furred paws and poisonous fangs, and he stumbled back. Everyone stumbled back, except for the prince.

Arthur gave his spear a little toss to adjust his grip, then hurled it fearlessly. The boar ducked and swerved; the weapon glanced off the tough hairy hide over the beast's shoulder, its charge delayed only minimally.

Time seemed to slow. Arthur was empty-handed. The other hunters retreated step by step, making no move to counter the attacking beast. Beside him, the obsequious stranger named Cedric let the spear he was using to flush smaller wildlife out of hiding fall from his hand, turning to flee.

Merlin's attention was on the spear – with a single wordless thought, his magic snatched the weapon, sending it forward with perfect aim and strength, through the boar's left eye, through the brain behind. But as the boar tripped and crashed to the forest floor, its momentum bringing it almost to Arthur's feet, Cedric's panicked attempt to escape took Merlin off guard, and he went sprawling in the wet leaves and underbrush, gathering a faceful of mud before his skull connected with a protruding root. Not hard enough to break the skin, though he might have a nice bruise later, but enough to dizzy him and darken his vision for a handful of moments.

He heard Arthur's voice, and at that proof of his prince's safety, he took his time pushing himself up. Wiping mud from his eye, he watched in confusion as Arthur clasped Cedric's hand in a show of astonished gratitude. He heard the newcomer say, _A position in the royal household_ – and Arthur was nodding in immediate agreement. Merlin put out his hand to steady himself against a tree trunk, and as the others began to go about readying their kill for transportation back to Camelot, Arthur paused near enough to Merlin to say, "Serves you right, you know, laughing at me when I fell – at least I didn't aim my face for a mud puddle."

"What –" Merlin waved his hand, not even sure what question to ask. "What happened?"

"Seems Cedric struck the killing blow while you were lying down on the job, Merlin," the prince said. Below the teasing tone, Merlin heard a bewildered disappointment. "Good thing someone else has a knack for saving my life."

Merlin looked past his shoulder at the man. If no one else had seen Merlin's magic at work, he wasn't terribly surprised that a stranger would make the most of such an opportunity. He himself wouldn't bother correcting the story; it would make him look childish and petulant, even if he were believed, now that credit had gone to Cedric. He and Arthur had saved each other's life more than once; they did not keep score, they did it for the simple reward of keeping a friend alive, not for credit and acclaim.

But it did bother Merlin that a man willing to lie to the prince's face was being rewarded with a position of trust in the king's service.

…..*…..

"Welcome back!" Arthur exclaimed with an enthusiasm born of relief at the door of his sister's room.

She turned from the open trunk, tucking the gown she'd shaken out over her arm, as the two maids assisting her continued with their work. "Arthur," she acknowledged, her lips curving in an answering smile with just enough sass to be a smirk. "I would rush to embrace you, dear brother," she added, waving a hand at his attire, "but I can see you've just got in from hunting. I'll wait til you're clean."

He grinned back, crossing his arms and leaning in the doorway. "Did you have a good trip? No trouble?"

She made a face. "It was uneventful – during the daytime."

"What do you mean?"

"I've had another dream this week," she said in a lower tone, coming closer to him. She glanced over her shoulder to be sure that the two maids couldn't overhear. "The same one, every night."

"What was it about?" Arthur asked.

"A bird, a raven." A small wrinkle appeared on her forehead. "Usually – I see something of the danger coming. Some image of the person at risk, or the person who is the source of the menace… but how can a raven threaten Camelot?"

Arthur grunted his agreement at her puzzlement, and his lack of a solution, both. "Maybe you should talk to Gaius about your sleeping draught?" he said. "Only –" he grinned again, "Give Merlin a chance to get cleaned up if you want to say hello to him."

"He went hunting with you?" she said in sardonic disbelief.

"In a way. We caught a wild boar – perfect for your homecoming feast, right?" She rolled her eyes, and he added, "Merlin caught a mud puddle."

…..*…..

Gaius looked up from his desk as Merlin dragged himself into the room. "What happened to you?" the old man said, showing his concern through a stern attitude, as always.

"Nothing," Merlin said innocently, shrugging out of his jacket. He left it on the peg behind the door to dry, it could be brushed free of mud later. He crossed the room stripping his sodden shirt, using it to scrub more streaks of drying mud from his face and hair, and tossed it through the open door of his room with a wet plop. "What are you doing?" He bent over the large washing basin in the corner, beginning to pour water from a fat-bellied pitcher into his cupped hand, stray trickles wetting the dark swirls of the druid tattoos on his forearms.

"I've been translating the inscription around that blue stone on the tomb," Gaius told him.

Merlin poured more water over his head, teasing clods of dirt out of his hair. "Whose tomb was it, do you know?" he asked under his elbow, squinting one eye open at his mentor.

Gaius sat back in his chair, gazing absently into the middle of the room. "Cornelius Sigan," he said, and before Merlin could ask for clarification, the old man added, "He was a very powerful sorcerer, and a figure of nightmare. It was said that he could change day to night and turn the tides."

Merlin scrubbed until his scalp no longer felt gritty. _Why_, he thought, _would you want to?_ He probably could, he supposed, but knew better than to alter the rhythm of the natural world for a whim. The druids had taught him respect for the order of things; it was a necessary foundation when one was learning how to make changes to that order, however small or fleeting. Effects were often unforeseen, and could be disastrous. He straightened, reaching for the thin cotton towel next the washbasin.

"What happened to him?" he asked.

"He grew too powerful," Gaius said. "The king at that time ordered his execution."

"Don't tell this story to Uther," Merlin said with an attempt at humor.

One of Gaius' eyebrows rose. "It would not have been accomplished without the concurrence and aid of fully a dozen of the greatest sorcerers of the time, and the High Priestess."

"If he's dead, why are you so worried?" Merlin asked, taking the stairs to his bedchamber to retrieve an extra shirt, clean and dry.

Gaius waited until he'd re-emerged to finish the story. "Sigan had some warning, and couldn't bear the thought that his wealth and power would die with him. There are conflicting legends about his demise – the king recorded the execution, but rumors persisted that Sigan had found a way to defeat death."

Merlin thought again of the caves and chambers under Dinas Emrys, the enchantment that had caught the two last surviving dragons slumbering out of time for forty years, waiting for fulfillment of prophecy and the word of the dragonlords' descendent. He shook his head – the sense of that tale was almost entirely of hope, of sacrifice for a better future. Sigan, his legend and his tomb, were dark and selfish, secret and ominous. "You think he's alive?"

"I think his soul is," Gaius clarified. "But in order to truly live, a soul needs a body."

The worker had been killed. He and Gaius had both been inside the chamber, and he was pretty sure they'd left without disturbing anything so sinister as an evil dead sorcerer's soul. "Did the inscription tell you anything?" he said.

"The translation is, 'He who breaks my heart completes my work'."

"So if the stone is removed from its setting, then the heart is broken and the soul released?" Merlin suggested.

"That's what I fear."

"What do you think?" Merlin said. "You talk to Uther about resealing that chamber? I'll go down there and see if I can't lay some enchantments to prevent anyone getting close to the stone?"

"The entrance was blocked with a locked iron gate after the death of that poor worker," Gaius said. "I think it can wait until tomorrow; Morgana arrived today and there's bound to be a feast tonight."

…..*…..

Arthur sat at his desk in his bedchamber, resting his aching head on its parchment-strewn surface. In a fit of light-headed generosity, he'd agreed to give Cedric a trial period as his personal servant. It had gone well the previous night, the man had been reverent to the point of invisibility assisting Arthur back to his chambers after the welcome-home feast for his half-sister had finally drawn to a close. Stripping had taken but a second, and sleep had come even quicker.

This morning, however, the fire had not been tended, his breakfast was not brought, his clothing not prepared. Arthur sat completely still, willing the pounding behind his eyes to lessen; when his headache ceased, he'd find Cedric and let him know he needed to seek employment elsewhere.

The door opened so violently it banged against the wall, and someone said, "Arthur!" He groaned and raised his aching head, focusing slowly on the colors and form of his friend. "Where's Cedric?" Merlin continued, speaking too loudly and moving too quickly and Arthur felt nauseated with him in the same room. "Never mind, as long as he's not here. Arthur, listen to me – are you listening to me? Cedric is possessed by an evil spirit."

"Merlin," Arthur rasped through his dry throat, shielding his friend from his vision as the younger man dared to throw open the curtains and admit a daylight that was physically painful. "Are you still drunk?"

Merlin made an impatient noise and arrived at Arthur's side before he'd noticed. "Are _you_ still drunk? Here, sit back." Long gentle fingers eased Arthur's head down against the back of the chair; Merlin stood behind him, fingertips on his temples. His whispered spell stirred Arthur's hair, and he sighed as the tightness inside his skull eased. "Now will you listen to me? The tomb that was discovered belonged to an ancient sorcerer who placed his soul in the blue jewel – I went this morning to check on it and it was gone, but the gate wasn't damaged so the thief must have had a key, but you're the only one with a key, and Cedric was the only other one in here last night and–"

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur said emphatically, and his friend rounded the desk to stand before him. "You do realize you sound quite mad, don't you? Or drunk."

How did the younger man manage quite that expression of innocent sincerity? "It's the truth."

"You have got to work on your storytelling," Arthur said, and raised a hand to forestall whatever was coming out of his friend's open mouth. "Oh, do shut up. I believe you."

"Gaius is telling your father," Merlin said. "I've got the stone –" He pulled a heart-shaped crystal from his pocket, cloudy white instead of the luminous blue that Arthur had glimpsed on his one trip to the uncovered crypt. "The best idea I've got is to catch Cedric and somehow re-capture Sigan and then bury him back up again."

Arthur sighed. Along with Merlin's knack of telling the truth as if it was a ludicrous fabrication, he'd eventually have to address the young sorcerer's make-it-up-as-I-go-along sense of strategic planning. "And how do you intend to do that?" he asked. "Gaius found a spell to exorcise evil sorcerers from witless thieves and return them to the jewels from whence they came?"

Merlin gave him an uncertain sideways glance. "Er, no," he said, then straightened and gazed into the air as if another idea had occurred to him. "But maybe if I ask Kilgarrah –"

"Just do it in private, please," Arthur said. Merlin tucked the clear stone back into his jacket pocket, and moved for the prince's wardrobe. A glance from the young sorcerer was sufficient both to float a large section of firewood into the fire-grate and set it ablaze. "I suppose I'll have to alert the guards to the fact and identity of the thief –" He winced, remembering _forever indebted_ and _must be rewarded_ from the hunt the previous day – "and probably spend all day trying to track Cedric down."

"Please avoid a confrontation, though?" Merlin tossed over his shoulder, along with a pair of dark brown trousers and shirt to match, a deep-red vest, onto the bed – just what Arthur needed for a day of thief-searching.

Arthur made a thoughtful noise, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Merlin… did you throw that spear, after all."

"What?" Merlin said distractedly, rounding the bed to head for the open doorway. "I'll catch up with you after I've spoken to Kilgarrah, all right?" His cheerful grin flashed. "Be careful."

"You too!" Arthur called after him.

…..*…..

_Cornelius Sigan_, Kilgarrah had said, and then repeated the name ruminatively. _So his tomb has been discovered and his soul released._

_ Yes. Gaius thinks that –_

_ Young warlock, go to the clearing outside Camelot where you have previously met my younger kin. I will come to you immediately._

_ But Uther_ - Merlin stopped, mentally shrugging and readying himself to obey the ancient dragon. Nothing he said ever changed Kilgarrah's mind; the great beast was fully capable of landing in the courtyard if Merlin didn't show in the clearing. If the great dragon felt it important enough to leave his cavern home beneath Dinas Emrys then it was important enough to run the risk of daylight hours and the king's ire.

They couldn't allow Cedric – or was it only Cornelius now? he wasn't clear on the rules of possession – to escape Camelot. Merlin didn't believe for one minute that a man as Gaius had described him would find a plot of land somewhere and live a normal life, bothering no one. The kind of power and ambition and dark magic that would forcefully keep a soul from the afterlife in the hopes of riding some unwitting fellow centuries later would eventually make his presence known at the highest levels, perhaps violently, certainly with demands and commands at odds with the peace and political structure in place in the land. It made sense to him that Sigan would begin with the kingdom where he found himself. With Camelot.

He didn't have long to wait in the clearing before the slow and heavy beat of the red-gold dragon's wings signaled his arrival. Merlin stood, and as Kilgarrah settled to the grass, he bowed slightly and respectfully from the waist, holding the dragon's gaze.

"Sigan has the advantage of you, Merlin," Kilgarrah said, not settling to a position with his head nearer the ground, as was his way when conversing with his human kin, but remaining upright and vigilant. "He has decades of study and a willingness to use the dark arts – which you do not have. He has made himself immortal; he cannot be killed."

Merlin remained silent; he knew the great dragon had not flown several hours' distance from his home into the territory of a king who'd gladly see him dead, simply to tell him it could not be done.

Kilgarrah studied him in the silence of his pause, then nodded to himself at whatever he saw. "To defeat Sigan, you will need a spell more powerful than anything you yet know. Close your eyes and open your mind."

He obeyed without hesitation, willing to accept whatever residual consequences might accompany the spell. He ceased to hear the rustle and song of the wood around them, ceased to feel the chill of the caressing breeze or the ground under his boots. Kilgarrah _breathed_ on him – his jacket fluttered and he spread his arms to retain his balance and he felt his magic _expand_.

"Few men," Kilgarrah said, "have ever been gifted such knowledge. Use it wisely."

Merlin promised breathlessly, "I will."

Kilgarrah swung his head around to the northwest, where the vague little footpath Merlin had used led back to Camelot. "Greetings, young prince," he said. "It has been long and long since we met beneath the hill."

Arthur stepped out, followed by a patrol's worth of guards. "Someday, Kilgarrah," he said regretfully, "we must meet under circumstances that are nothing but favorable."

A laugh rumbled in the dragon's great chest. "I look forward to the day, Prince Arthur."

"What now?" Merlin said to Arthur, whose eyes were on the ground as he climbed the gradual rise of the little hill. "I thought you were trying to find Cedric?"

Arthur heaved a sigh, and glanced up at Kilgarrah. "Someone reported a dragon sighting to the king," he said. "Who immediately ordered that a search for a common thief was of secondary importance to the sorcerer and dragonlord who disregarded his restrictions so carelessly and allowed a dangerous creature so close to his capital."

"You're arresting me?" Merlin said, not knowing whether to sigh or snicker. Arthur shrugged. "Did he ask you to try to capture the dragon also?"

That brought a twinkle to the prince's eyes. "I will be disappointed to report that the dragon had already departed the area when we found you."

"Goodbye, Kilgarrah," Merlin said.

"Courage, young ones," the great dragon said, unfurling wings that could easily shade the entirety of the main courtyard before the citadel. "And farewell."

Merlin turned to Arthur. "Have you got to clap me in irons?" he asked impishly, extending his wrists in mock invitation.

Arthur rolled his eyes and reached to grip the back of Merlin's neck, dragging him back to the patrol. "Come on, idiot. I expect you'll have no reservations about unlocking your cell if and when we need you?"

…..*…..

Where the hell was that idiot when Arthur needed him?

They'd searched the rest of the day for any sign of Cedric, and had returned to the citadel tired hungry and empty-handed. At sundown the chaos had begun.

Reports of a creature – a winged creature, confused with the dragon that had come before midday – no, more than one. They crawled, they climbed, they flew. They ripped the very stone as if it was no more than earth, they ripped people easier than that. Arthur saw one man plucked from his hiding place and carried high into the air before being released to drop to his death – though he did not see any of the beasts attack livestock, or feed at all. They were here only for death and destruction; the ground shook, the buildings shifted, the people screamed.

It was a cowards' attack; but then again, it might be just the sort of fun that a centuries-dead evil sorcerer would enjoy indulging in.

He wished, also, for the dragonlords' sword that Merlin had returned to Dinas Emrys early the previous autumn. The creatures were stone-hard, their weapons did no good. Arthur led a dozen knights, their shields overlapping in a phalanx formation to drive the creatures off, covering retreat and escape for trapped citizens. He had the idea that the blade Merlin had enchanted for him might at least be able to hack pieces from the winged nightmares.

Arthur also had the idea that if they could locate Cedric – or Sigan, rather – and kill him, whatever enchantment held these beasts together and attacking Camelot might fail. But there was nothing he could do about that; he'd have to leave it to Merlin. It occurred to him that his friend might have been ahead of him with that idea, his absence due to a hunt of his own, throughout the citadel.

"On me!" he shouted the command once again, drawing the weary remaining knights to their protective formation, crouching and locking their shields together.

"Sire!" a panicked shout echoed from behind him. He tossed a quick glance over his shoulder – saw nothing – turned his head to follow the knight's gaze – upward.

Another creature dropped down on them like a rock, wings and talons and teeth extended. Arthur leaped instinctively, as they all did, away from the center of their formation, diving and rolling and coming up without his shield. It was his bad luck that he ended up on the side of the confused circle furthest from the last door left unbarricaded by those within, the small door just to the left of the base of the central stair of the courtyard.

"Go!" he bellowed past the grinning black creature glancing about as if to choose its victim. "That's an order – go!"

The other knights retreated to the door – through the door. Arthur gripped the hilt of his weapon tighter, crouched a little lower, prepared to defend himself as long as there was breath in his body. The creature turned to swipe a massive arm at him at the height of his head; he ducked, and the beast shattered into chunks of lifeless stone.

He _might_ have been better able to protect head and body from flying rock, if he hadn't been so astonished.

Arthur felt himself tumble across the courtyard paving stones, pieces slamming unresisting into other parts of his body. He thought hazily, perhaps that's another way Sigan gets a laugh. Or just maybe… He heard Merlin's voice, though he could not make out any of the words. Another answered him, sounding similar to Cedric – but the words and the cadences were archaic, the tone deeper than the thief's.

Vaguely he recalled what Kilgarrah had said to Merlin – _Sigan has the advantage of you. Decades of study – dark magic. _

Hadn't he taught Merlin that to win against an opponent who has the advantage was to strike immediately, and hard, and never let up? Why was the young sorcerer having a _chat_, now? Arthur stirred, trying to encourage his battered body to rise; it was just like Merlin to try to convince Sigan to voluntarily return to the crystal. A spike of pain shot down Arthur's neck to his right leg and his whole body seized, motionless and breathless with pain.

In that moment, he heard Sigan say clearly, "So be it. If you will not join me, I will _become_ you, and your power will be harnessed to my will!"

Another point of pain sparked in Arthur's chest. He heard his friend's voice explain carelessly swift, _ancient sorcerer who placed his soul in the blue jewel._ The piece of crystal had been left in Merlin's pocket the last he'd seen of the younger man, as he'd been locked into the cell. He heard Merlin retort almost angrily, _You almost lost your life, and I almost lost my – soul! _

"No!" His defiant shout was no more than a hoarse whisper. All above was inky darkness, all around him smoke and stone-dust made opaque by the light of many small fires scattered. "Merlin, fight him!" he begged. He couldn't even see his friend, didn't know if Merlin could hear him at all.

Silence for a moment. A long, dragging, heart-wrenching moment. Arthur twisted to increase his range of vision, and still could not locate Merlin. He heard the scrape of a wooden door against a stone threshold, felt footsteps hurry closer across the cobblestones.

"Arthur!" his father's voice hissed. "The creatures have gone; let's get you inside. Gaius, help me with him!"

Arthur didn't look up at the two older men, straining his eyes to try to see through the swirling smoky cloud. There was a figure there, dark and still. A man standing motionless, his head down. Arthur choked out a curse – if Sigan had harmed his friend, he'd find a way to kill him – another voice in the back of his mind reminded him, if Sigan had _taken_ his friend… what then?

The man moved forward, and Arthur recognized Merlin's rangy gait. He raised his head just enough to see the three of them under the disheveled fringe of black hair, his face set in a mature grimness Arthur didn't think he'd ever seen on the younger man's face. Uther reached for the hilt of the sword at his hip.

Then Merlin raised his hand, gripping the heart-shaped cut crystal – once again glowing blue. His grin spread wide across a face grimy with smoke and sweat, and Gaius laughed out loud. Arthur heard his relief; the old physician didn't hesitate to cross the distance and gather the druid boy in a close embrace. Arthur heard him say, "Well done."

Merlin answered, looking at Gaius but speaking clearly enough for the king to hear, "I couldn't have done it without the spell given me by the dragon."

Uther's face was firm, stoically contemptuous, but Arthur laughed at the expression in his father's gray eyes, which brokenly wheezed chuckle served to draw their attention down to him. "Oh, Arthur," the king said, going down on one knee at his side again.

Merlin eased himself down to sitting by Arthur's left shoulder as Gaius performed a quick examination, terse questions simply answered – yes, it hurts and no, I can't. "Sire, if you would be so kind as to organize a stretcher and two bearers, I can continue to treat the prince in-doors."

"Of course," the king said, rising to leave with a single troubled look between his son and the young sorcerer.

"I'll heal you in a bit," Merlin promised comfortably, stretching out his legs like they were sore. The glowing blue crystal still lay in his palm atop his thigh. "I need to go put this back first, though. I don't want to try any magic while I'm holding it, and I don't think anyone else should touch it, and I – don't think I should put it down anywhere else."

Arthur merely grunted, managing to tip his head without too much pain to look up at his friend. "I have an idea," he said deliberately, "of what we should do tomorrow."

Merlin threw his head back with a deep genuine guffaw of laughter that made Arthur smile. "Hells, Arthur," he said, "do not say _hunting_."

**A/N: Thanks to reviewers I'm not able to thank more personally in a PM!**


	14. The Most Feared Assassin

**A/N: This is one of my favorite episodes for many reasons – Merlin's rant to Gaius about being overworked, Gwen's rant to Arthur about his arrogance… the chicken dinner… the kiss… the leech tank…**

**Unfortunately, none of these scenes has any place in my a/u. *frownie face* So we'll have to make do with this instead. Hope you like… a longer delay between updates means a longer chapter… well, this time anyway.**

**The Most Feared Assassin**

Merlin was bored.

The jousting tournament scheduled to begin on the morrow was in celebration of spring solstice; the air was cool and the sun was warm and he had nothing to keep his hands busy. He blinked in the glare of high sunlight off shiny armor, broad shields and helms, and yawned. His place by the base of the audience stands was not even close enough to the center of the lists for him to be threatened by splinters flying from the lances. His magic, he felt, was napping; he wished he could do the same.

Unfortunately, this sort of thing, even in practice, could be potentially dangerous. And whenever the crown prince participated in an activity that was potentially dangerous, Merlin's presence was required. At the moment, though, Arthur was standing to the side with a handful of other knights, adjusting the various buckles and bits of extra armor that jousting required. Merlin allowed his eyes to drop shut.

The sand of the long narrow list gritted slightly, near him. His magic reacted instinctively, his eyes flying open and his hand flying up, to freeze the handful of retrieved splinters Arthur had tossed at him, then let them fall to the sand in a heap.

The prince grinned, grudging admiration and disappointment, both. "My father has summoned us," he said, reaching down his hand to pull Merlin upright.

His muscles, used to the comfortable crouch, protested at the shift in position. "Don't you mean he's summoned you?" Merlin said. "Can't I get back to Gaius, now?"

"Nope. Both of us."

Merlin followed Arthur; he couldn't help the feeling of apprehension that stirred in his stomach – a specific summons from Uther would always do that to him, he was afraid. They heard voices as one of the double-guard at the doors to the throne room recognized the prince and reached to open the door. Arthur didn't even break stride.

The king and a few of his councilmen were grouped around the throne, but Uther was not seated. Another man stood separate, facing them in the middle of the room, dressed for rough riding, his stance easy and comfortable and respectful. His hair was a shade longer and redder than Arthur's, as was the scruff of unshaven whiskers on his face, visible as he turned to greet the prince at his entrance. Merlin recognized him, to his very genuine pleasure. But it was not his place to say anything, now. He drifted to put his back to the column just behind Arthur, to the right. Leon glanced over – then glanced again, with his eyebrows raised, mouthing Merlin's name. He grinned and ducked his head in affirmative.

"Arthur," the king greeted his son.

"Father," Arthur returned, in much the same tone. "Leon, it's good to see you back."

"You can update Prince Arthur on all the news from Lord Agravaine later," Uther said. "What concerns me now is the report that Odin has hired an assassin."

"I heard this from a man who was there," Leon said. "Odin has indeed put a price on Prince Arthur's head." Merlin's eyes rested on the prince, who simply crossed his arms over his chest impassively.

"Surely he wouldn't dare," the king muttered. "It is an invitation to open war."

"Perhaps his grief has blinded him," Leon offered. "But one thing is sure – the assassin Myror has accepted the bounty."

"I've heard of this Myror," Uther said, and glanced at his son. Arthur shifted, and suddenly the king's eyes were on Merlin, standing at the stone column behind the prince. He found himself straightening his posture.

"I believe he would not have wasted any time," Leon said. "I would not venture to guess whether he or I arrived here first."

"Double the guards," Uther said. "I want this assassin intercepted before he reaches Camelot."

"If he hasn't arrived already," Arthur spoke. "What do we know about him? What does he look like?" Merlin wondered,_ Does he have magic?_

"I have never seen him myself," Leon said. "He was described to me as dark of skin and eye and hair, medium in stature. His favored weapon is said to be a crossbow."

"In the crowds that have gathered for the tournament, it will be hard to find one stranger," Uther stated. He seated himself in the throne, leaning back and thinking. "We must plan for every eventuality. Arthur, you will not compete."

"What?" Arthur said, his voice rising incredulously. "Surely you cannot mean –"

"We cannot risk your safety with such an exposure," Uther said. "You will be confined to your chambers until the assassin is apprehended."

"Father," Arthur growled, "I will be wearing full armor and riding a horse at a gallop. Surely we can have the guards enforce a ban on weaponry in the stands and -"

"You will be surrounded by strangers in a crowd at all times and I will not take the chance! This man is said to be the most feared assassin in all the five kingdoms!" Uther snapped in response.

Merlin stepped forward. He saw it in the set of the prince's shoulders, in the tone of his voice. He knew his friend, and there was only trouble in store if the king attempted to enforce this course of action. "My lord?" he said respectfully. "If I may?"

Absolute dead silence. Merlin had never spoken up before the king before, never volunteering, content to be overlooked. He could see the others remembering – _the sorcerer_. Arthur looked at him, expectantly hopeful. Uther said, somewhat stiffly, "You may speak."

"There is a charm I could work," Merlin said. "To stop any bolt, arrow, or knife, before it reached the prince's person. He need not be sequestered, if I could be allowed…"

"How would it work?" the king questioned narrowly.

"It is a spell that must be maintained," Merlin said. "The one requirement is for me to remain within, say, five feet of the prince?"

"That would still make it impossible for me to participate in the joust," Arthur protested. "Isn't there anything –"

"Very well," Uther decided abruptly. "No, Arthur – I want to hear nothing further from you on this matter. The boy can be your guard, and you may attend the event as a spectator in the royal box. You should be thanking me, rather than voicing complaint."

Arthur kept his gaze on the king for a moment longer, then turned a stony scowl on Merlin briefly, before stalking from the chamber. Merlin bowed to the king, who acknowledged him with a vague nod and gesture, then hurried to keep up with the prince.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It was the best I could do." It was magic that needed no words, and he performed it immediately, pushing the invisible protective bubble of magic out around Arthur. It did not require much concentration – not involuntary like respiration or circulation, that would continue if he dropped unconscious, but like walking or talking, as quick and easy as thought. He would not then need to see the weapon flying toward the prince before taking action; if a bolt was shot it would be stopped even if Merlin was looking the other direction. But it was not something he could separate from himself physically; if Arthur walked more than three paces from him, he would be outside the shield of protection.

"You can't enchant an amulet or some such, that I could just wear around?" Arthur growled, though Merlin understood the prince was resentful of the situation and his father's restrictions.

Merlin almost stopped walking to think about it, but a warning tug reminded him to stay in step with the one he was protecting. "I think – it would require some time," he allowed. "I don't know of something like that specifically. It would take a while for Gaius and I to research… and then, I think – I _think_ – that sort of shield would drain an amulet as fast as I could replace the magic…"

"I could feign an illness," Arthur said, and Merlin hid his smile behind Arthur – that idea was so very obviously stolen from the prince's half-sister. "We could pretend that I was locked in my room and I could enter the joust under another name."

"The list of competitors has already been posted," Merlin reminded him softly. "There can be no further entries…" Even though Arthur's name and title and token would have to be removed from the notice board, now.

"Never mind." Arthur put his hand on the latch of his door and sighed, before jerking it open. Merlin made to follow him inside, and Arthur stopped him with a look and a hand on his chest. "Five feet, really?" he said. "Even in my bedchamber? Even in my _bath_?"

Merlin gritted his teeth, feeling his ears warm with his blush. "Oh, spare me," he said. "_No one_ wants to be within five feet of you in your bath, sire." He pushed Arthur's hand away and passed him into the chamber, where some enterprising or forewarned servant had indeed left a tub full of steaming water, ready for the prince's return from the morning of preparatory training in the lists. Arthur followed him with a curious look, as he closed the shutters on each of the windows and spelled them shut. He paused before the fireplace, wondering if it was worth it hearing Arthur complain about the chill in the air to stop up the chimney aperture. Merlin lifted his head to meet Arthur's gaze. "Myror isn't capable of sorcery, is he?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and groaned, tossing up his hands. "No, Merlin, not that I've heard."

"Well, it would be our luck…"

"Your luck, Merlin," Arthur said, crossing to the dressing screen already beginning to unbuckle his belt. "My luck was just fine before I met you."

"I'll seal the door as well," Merlin called after him, and ducked out as Arthur flung his shirt over the screen. "And just wait in the corridor for you to finish," he added under his breath.

…..*…..

No one else was told about the assassin. Every knight and guard and servant was told to be on the alert for a thief – description supplied, reward offered for information leading to an arrest – but no one outside of the half dozen men present for Leon's report knew _assassin_.

Arthur slouched in the high-backed chair to his father's right-hand in the royal box, wondering if it was his imagination that every eye was on him, rather than the king his father, standing to receive the mounted competitors, readying to give his customary start-of-tournament speech. His withdrawal from the lists was ostensibly due to a training injury, but he had flatly refused to wear a bandage or assume a limp.

Leon had taken his place, to round out the field of a dozen knights, and sat his charger calmly, helm balanced against his hip, reins loose in his hand. Arthur supposed there was no time for splintering lances for sport or practice while patrolling the wild borders of the west, alert for any move Odin might make, but Leon did not appear apprehensive about the upcoming matches.

Arthur kicked out one leg, scraping his bootheel along the floorboard of the royal box in the stands. He felt Morgana's glance from her seat on the other side of the largest central seat that awaited their father; she hadn't been told about the assassin either, but he didn't doubt she'd find out sooner or later. She was sharp for details like that, and cunning as a spy in solving secrets. And Merlin's presence in the royal box was just the oddity to catch her attention.

It was a lot like having a second shadow. The rest of the previous day had passed uneventfully; Arthur's one concession to the threat was remaining in-doors. Gaius was told only that his apprentice was needed elsewhere, on the king's orders. The old man had grumbled, anticipating extra work with the tournament, but submitting as always to Uther's will. They'd eaten together in Arthur's chamber – not unheard of, but not something their busy lives always allowed leisure or opportunity for, either. Then Merlin had checked the windows one more time, spelled the door shut, and lugged the pelt rug over to stretch himself out in front of it.

_What are you doing_, Arthur had said. _Can't hold the shielding spell while I sleep,_ Merlin explained. _Anyone coming through the door will have to go through me. Or over you, rather, _Arthur had corrected, covering a faint surprise with teasing. He glanced over his shoulder at his friend, draped casually on the back of Arthur's chair, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. The floor couldn't have been comfortable.

"Knights of the realm," Uther proclaimed in a carrying speech-to-the-masses voice. "Welcome to Camelot. You've trained for this day for many years."

Arthur slouched lower in his seat, hoping his attitude would indicate pain or weariness to any onlooker, rather than the resentful discouragement he felt. He'd gladly risk an assassin's bolt to be facing his father, the strongest charger in the royal stables between his knees, the weight of his armor comfortable and reassuring, his heart beating high with anticipation…

"Today you will fight for glory and for honor."

_And where the hell was the glory and honor of sitting on his ass in a shaded box_, he snarled to himself, _hiding behind another's magic_?

"For this is the ultimate test of courage. It will be the measure of you as men. Only the most skillful, the most fearless among you, will emerge as a worthy champion."

Arthur wanted to kick something. His father didn't even look at him as he signaled for the marshal of the lists to take charge of the event, and lowered himself to the high-backed chair of state.

The first pair entered the list to a roar of cheering from the eager crowd. Arthur sat forward in spite of himself, his muscles tense as if he sat a saddle instead of a spectator's seat, gripping the arm of it like a lowered lance, his attention focused as a scowl as the chargers thundered down either side of the dividing fence to the first clash. The blunt ends of both lances boomed off the armor – one shield, one breastplate, splinters flying as each knight rolled his head back to protect the narrow eye-slits of his helmet. The crowd released held breath in explosive unison, cheers and groans alike.

In that second, Arthur was so completely absorbed in the world of the two riders, the lances, the positioning and force of the blows, the glimpse he had from the corner of his eye of a slender shaft defined itself as another flying splinter. Belatedly the realization came, that the royal box was too far from the center of the list for such a thing – that it quivered motionless in midair – then Merlin's arm, brown jacket and red shirt cuff, reached forward to snatch the thing before it could be generally noticed. The king turned in his seat, growling for the extra guard attending them.

"There, sire," Merlin said, pointing across the lists at the stand opposite. Arthur confusedly following his finger, to see a figure in a hooded brown cloak, in the front row, turn and slip away between obliviously cheering commoners. Merlin put his hand down on the arm of Arthur's chair, releasing the stray lance splinter – smoothed rounded shaft, sharpened metal head – crossbow _bolt_ – and spun on his heel, heading for the box's exit.

"Sorcerer," Uther snarled. Arthur's hand picked up the bolt in a sort of numb curiosity; his eyes on the impossibly sharp head, he sensed rather than saw Merlin stop. "Your place is at _his_ side."

The younger man stepped to the front of the box. "They'll never reach him in time," he murmured. "They're going to lose him."

"The guards will catch him," the king declared shortly.

Arthur lifted his gaze from the bolt to Morgana's wide green eyes, her fingertips covering her mouth, even as the noise of the crowd signaled another clash of the joust.

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it was to be a test of his courage, after all.

…..*…..

It was certainly, Merlin thought with a repressed sigh, going to be a test of his patience.

Arthur was in one of his crankiest moods, after the first day of a public tournament in which he had taken no part. He'd ignored his father completely, rising to leave as his father spoke the closing words of the day, thanking spectators and participants both, detailing the schedule for the following day, cutting Morgana off with a sharp gesture as she attempted to speak to him at the exit of the royal box. Merlin hadn't even attempted to suggest that they go to the infirmary and offer their assistance to Gaius. It was as if the prince had forgotten him – or wanted to forget him. He'd gone straight to his own chamber, and had been pacing for the last hour, like he was done with sitting still for the day.

Merlin, on the other hand, had put his back to the inside of the door and slid down to rest on the stone of the floor, releasing the magic of the prince's shield. The spell on the windows was a simpler thing, a one-time spell to lock and seal. He didn't bother with the door; Arthur would be required to sit at the king's right hand at dinner with the other combatants which meant they would be leaving shortly, and no one could so much as touch the door, now, without him knowing.

The assassin had escaped from the stands and from the guards. According to Leon, payment had already exchanged hands, which meant that such a man with such a reputation would not cease his attempts until he was dead himself.

"Not _sleeping_, are you, Merlin?" Arthur snapped, his pacing tread not slowing.

Merlin rubbed the corner of his eye. "Not a bit," he answered, forcing lightness into his tone. "You know me, sire, always on alert."

"You were snoring."

"Was not!" he shot back immediately, then hoped it wasn't true. He blinked, and watched Arthur pace, hands clasped so tightly behind his back that his knuckles were white. "Arthur, if you don't mind me asking, why would Odin want you dead? I mean, he doesn't _want_ war with Camelot, does he?"

Arthur came to a stop before the fireplace, tension fairly radiating from his shoulder muscles. Then he let his breath out and turned to slump in his chair, one elbow on the arm and his head dropped down on his fist. He stared at a spot on the door just to the left of Merlin's head. "I killed his son," he said quietly.

Merlin shifted his position. "What happened?"

"It was a couple of years ago. Odin's son challenged me to a fight."

"A tilt?" Merlin said softly, and the prince nodded.

"I had no quarrel with him; I asked him to withdraw. Perhaps he felt he had to prove himself. It was a solid hit, and he went down… I still see his face - he looked so scared." Arthur took a breath; his eyes moved to connect with Merlin's, and a bitter smile pulled his mouth sideways.

"You cannot blame yourself," Merlin said in a low voice, "Jousting is –" He would have gone on, saying things Arthur no doubt already knew, had not a knock sounded on the door above his head.

Leon's voice came through the thick wood muffled but understandable. "The king demands your presence immediately."

Merlin scrambled up, simultaneously yanking open the door of the bedchamber and pushing the shield of his magic out to surround his friend once again. Leon took a step back out of their way, gesturing to the far end of the corridor. They heard voices, saw flickering shadows, and around a single corner found the king and his physician bent over the body of a guard, with another four on watch.

"His neck's been broken," Gaius was saying. Uther glanced up at his son, then immediately to Merlin just behind and beside as if making sure the magic he couldn't see and didn't trust still protected the life of his heir. The old physician continued, "There's scarcely a mark on the flesh – whoever killed him knew exactly what he was doing."

"The assassin," Arthur said, in the tone devoid of emotion that Merlin knew merely disguised what he was feeling.

The king was furious. "You see now that I was right," he said to Arthur. "If Myror can get to this floor and this hallway, he can reach you _anywhere_." His glare focused on Merlin. "If my son is so much as scratched by this killer, you will answer for it." Merlin didn't say anything, but gave the king a bow of acknowledgement. "Arthur, you need not come to the banquet tonight, have the kitchens send you a private dinner." The prince's eyes were still on the body of the murdered guard; he gave a terse nod, and turned to stalk away, back to his chamber.

"Arthur," Merlin called after him. "I have an idea." Arthur strode past his door, but dropped his shoulder slightly and turned his head to indicate he was listening. "Why don't we spend the night in our chambers – Gaius and mine?"

The prince stopped so abruptly that Merlin took two steps past him before halting also. "And why would we do that?" Arthur said testily.

Merlin gave him a bright hopeful smile. "If he can't find you, he can't kill you."

Arthur scowled. "That's not a solution, Merlin, and you know that as well as I do."

"Just for tonight? Maybe the guards will catch him, or tomorrow."

"You mean when he tries again? And perhaps this time misses me and hits my father, or Morgana? Or maybe another couple of guards lose their lives?" The prince gave him a disgusted look. "Myror managed to get this close to my room. If he tries again and finds it empty, where do you think he'll look? Through all the empty guest rooms? In the knights' quarters? No, Merlin, he's going to remember why his bolt was ineffective this morning in the lists, and he'll come looking for me with you."

"Do me a favor," Merlin proposed. "Hold out your arms."

"Have you lost your mind?"

"I just want to show you something. Hold out your hands, at shoulder height, with your elbows straight."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "To the front or to the sides?" he said in a tone of humoring a harmless idiot.

"Doesn't matter." Merlin waited, giving his friend his most innocent smile, until the prince complied, raising his arms to his sides.

"Now what?" he demanded.

Merlin considered. "Give it a minute. Or ten." Arthur stared at him in resentful confusion. He held his grin and stared right back.

The prince held the posture longer than Merlin expected him to, before a look of discomfort crossed his face, and a tremor ran down his left arm. A few minutes more, and he made an abortive move like he wanted to roll his head to ease his neck muscles. "What is this supposed to prove?"

"It's an easy thing, right?" Merlin suggested. "Requires no thought whatsoever? Not a whole lot of attention, just to hold your arms out like that? But maybe a bit more energy than you'd expect?"

Arthur snorted and let his arms drop. "What's your point, Merlin?"

He stepped closer and said softly, "I'd like to put my arms down."

The expression of irritated uncertainty softened with a glimmer of understanding. "You mean, your magic is getting tired?" The usual scoffing edge was missing.

"I put enchantments on Gaius' chambers the first week I was here," Merlin told him. "Anyone with malicious intent trying to enter will find the door locked – it's the sort of lock that can't be picked, the sort of magic that remains without drawing on me like the shield does. I could seal the door of your chamber like we did last night, but I'd be useless for a while after. I'll maintain the shield as long as you like, but when I pass out…" He grinned and gave an embarrassed shrug.

Arthur turned and began walking again; the prince had so much energy bottled up. Merlin huffed and trotted after him – at least he was heading in the direction of the physician's chambers.

It was a relief for Merlin, to step into the familiar organized chaos of his mentor's quarters, and let the shield drop once again. Power wasn't the question, unfortunately, it was endurance – how much his physical body could take before simply shutting down. It wasn't as though it was even logical for him to _practice_ for such a thing. There was a spell, he thought he remembered reading, that allowed for an object carried by a person to prevent them bleeding to death from any inflicted wound, but that wasn't a very good alternative to the sort of comprehensive shield he was using, especially if the king was threatening him about scratches.

Arthur, however, did not relax. "I dislike hiding, Merlin," he growled, stomping around the chamber, looking at the clutter without seeming to really see any of it.

"I don't know," Merlin answered easily. "I quite like the idea of an unassailable refuge. We'll catch him tomorrow."

As it turned out, however, tomorrow seemed very long in coming. Merlin had a dozen things to turn his attention to, in Gaius' chambers, but Arthur was still bored and very short-tempered, and seemed intent on preventing Merlin from focusing on or completing any useful task. Merlin was momentarily tempted to begin to clean the leech tank, if only to stop the prince's interminable hovering.

Once the physician's duties were finished with the newly discovered corpse and the knights' minor injuries in the infirmary, Gaius proved a courteous, if surprised, host, agreeing with Merlin on the arrangement. But when Merlin followed the prince up the three stairs to his own bedroom, it seemed to have shrunk to half its size and lost all comfort whatsoever.

He stretched out on the floor between the bed and his clothes cupboard, pillowing his head on his arm and leaving his boots where they fell when he pried them off with his toes behind him. Arthur couldn't settle, couldn't quit complaining – the mattress was too thin, too lumpy, the blanket not warm enough, the pillow too flat. Merlin blessed his state of exhaustion as his drift toward slumber allowed him to ignore his prince's dissatisfaction. And when Arthur finally demanded, "Get the candle, Merlin," the tendril of magic he sent to snuff the solitary light without a word or glance was enough to tip him over the edge into welcome oblivion.

He was stiff and sore when he woke the next morning – before dawn, he knew without having to look at the window. Arthur was already stirring, grumbling again about his bed. Merlin rolled over on the floor, stretching and yawning and feeling well-rested. He remembered how tired he'd felt holding his magelight for a few hours as he and Arthur had traveled under Dinas Emrys – and now he could push ten times the amount of magic outside of himself and hold it there all damn day if he liked!

"What are you grinning at like an idiot?" Arthur demanded. He swung his legs off the edge of Merlin's bed, running a hand through his hair and leaving half of it standing on end.

"It's a new day," Merlin answered, trying to keep his tone from becoming annoyingly cheerful. He got up from the floor and opened the top of his clothes cabinet, reaching to the back of his collar to drag his shirt off. "Want to wash and change?" he offered.

"Change into what?" Arthur said grumpily, not moving to rise. "This is your room and your clothes."

"You can borrow a shirt if you like." Merlin's best one, the blue one that always made his mother comment on his eyes, was clean. Arthur's eyes were blue, too, it was a pity he didn't wear the color more often, instead favoring shades of Camelot red. He tossed it generously at the prince.

Arthur grabbed carelessly at the shirt, his face already set in a grimace of distaste. "This?" he said, scrutinizing it, then sniffing it. "Smells like you used it to clean the leech tank." He threw it back at Merlin, and not as gently as it had come to him.

Merlin caught the shirt as it hit his chest, and lifted it to sniff. "No," he said deliberately – he knew exactly how something like that smelled, after all – "it does _not_."

"Why don't you go get me one of my own clean shirts?" the prince suggested. "You should be back by the time I'm finished washing."

Merlin opened his mouth to protest, _I'm not your servant_, and reconsidered. If Arthur went, he'd have to go also anyway, holding the magic shield over the prince every step of the way. He simply snorted and opened his door, putting the blue shirt on as he went. "Don't use all the hot water," he tossed over his shoulder, trotting down the three steps into the main chamber.

"_There is no hot water_!" The prince's voice thundered after him.

Merlin's grin held. Do Arthur some good to see how the rest of them lived. He jogged through the hallways, dodging the servants and guards, and couldn't help wondering where and how the assassin had spent his night. Reaching Arthur's bedchamber, he didn't hesitate to throw the door open, and made for the prince's wardrobe, so stuffed with extra clothing that he had to toss two shirts over his shoulder onto the floor before finding one he was pretty sure would suit. But when he put his hand to the carved wooden door of the cabinet, he slowed.

Something was off. Nothing that his five senses told him of, but where his magic should be rested and calm, it felt edgy. Something was off.

He left the room again, closing the door carefully behind him, walking more sedately down corridors, taking stairs one at a time rather than two or three. If he'd been moving through a forest, he'd have stated decisively that he was being followed – tracked, hunted.

A chill rippled through the muscles to either side of his spine. Perhaps the assassin had come to Arthur's chamber after all… and had stayed. In that case, he was leading Myror straight back to the prince. He wanted to turn and look for the one he felt was following him, but it was doubtful he'd be able to see him, find him – and if he did anything to give away the fact that he was aware of the other's presence, the assassin could disappear again. _That's not a solution_, Arthur had said, and, _I hate hiding_.

He had to know by now that Camelot was alerted. If he found no opportunity, he'd wait for one, wait until they could no longer maintain the high level of caution. Mistakes could be made. It made Merlin jumpy to think that a very clever assassin might be able to come up with a way to circumvent his shield, even.

Merlin kept his eyes open for Leon, as he returned to Gaius' chamber; that knight, at least, he could trust to warn with a glance, to comprehend the situation in an instant and come up with a workable plan. But he didn't see him.

As he gained the landing and turned to take the second flight of stairs to the tower, he suddenly increased his pace, bounding up by threes – and passed the door to the physician's chambers, continuing around a bend caused by the shape of the tower, slipping behind a dusty tapestry. The magic on the door would hold, and keep the assassin out, he was sure of it. And Myror might expect that he would be inside also, rather than setting his own ambush.

Merlin had one second to wonder what exactly he would do, when a shadow moved out from the stairway wall and attached itself to another shading the door he watched. Hooded and cloaked and moving so smoothly, he had no doubts about the figure's identity anymore. A hand emerged to test the latch, which held. Hesitation – Merlin thought, if he knocked for admittance, he'd have to lie to identify himself, convince the physician to let him in, possibly have to remove the old man in some way before attacking the prince, but giving Arthur that moment to prepare himself to arm himself – then the hand swept the cloak to the side. Merlin glimpsed the shape of a compact crossbow, caught the gleam of a pair of slender lockpicks, a faint clink of metal.

"Hey!" he said, stepping out.

The assassin had earned the reputation of the most feared in all the five kingdoms. Swift and smooth as a striking snake, his hand dipped to his side for the crossbow, as the hood turned toward Merlin.

Cringing only slightly, he lifted his hand to push his palm against the air, his magic making the gesture as effective as if he'd used all his strength to shove the man with both hands against his chest. The figure flew backward, out of Merlin's sight, tumbling down the stair. Merlin leaped forward, hollering for the guards, dodging the suddenly flung open door of the physician's room – and when he gained the head of the stair, it was empty.

"My shirt, Merlin?" Arthur demanded.

Merlin tossed it at him, leaped down the stairs as fast as he could without endangering a fall, himself. Five steps from the bottom, a pair of guards rushed up, demanding to know what the alarm was about. He hissed in annoyance and weaved to look past them – no sign of the assassin. And he could have taken three separate paths from this point.

"Dammit," he said. "Sorry, never mind."

…..*…..

The second day of the tournament was different.

The tournament wasn't organized to be a simple winner-advanced, loser-eliminated outcome, but rather a re-matching of winners to winners and losers to losers, a tallying of points and second chances. The second day, however, was more straightforward, intended to present the king and crowd with a pair of finalists for a single afternoon match. The combatants themselves were more determined, the audience more divided – no longer cheering everyone, there were now groans of disappointment when a particular favorite took a hard hit or missed points or had their token removed from the display board.

Arthur was more relaxed also, as if his body had finally accepted it would not be allowed to participate. He found himself enjoying the matches more than he had previously, bickering with Morgana over the details of a hit or the likelihood of a future match's outcome. Uther ignored them for the most part, focused on the clash of armor, the splintering of lances, the thunder of the chargers' hooves, applauding the exhibition of skill and bravery.

He wondered if maybe his father was more relaxed also, with his son and heir seated next to him in safety, rather than watching him gallop down the lists. With Uther, it was hard to tell which course of action pleased his father more.

Conversely, he thought Merlin was more on edge. Of course the young sorcerer-physician's apprentice would not be allowed to sit in the king's box, so he leaned over the side and back of Arthur's chair as he had the day before. Arthur glanced up at him, catching a distant look in the younger man's blue eyes, focused on the crowd in the stands opposite them, rather than on the pair of mounted knights.

He shifted to be able to address his friend without his father overhearing. "Relax, Merlin," he said. "The guards are deployed throughout the crowd, stationed strategically at the exits of the stands and the corners of the list itself. We'll catch him."

Merlin hummed in optimistic agreement, but his expression didn't change. Arthur studied his face for signs of the weariness he'd hinted at the previous evening, and didn't see anything but unfaltering determination. He'd never felt safer, he realized. As long as Merlin was conscious, the magic he could neither see nor feel was in place.

"Hey," he said, formulating some teasing insult in his mind, as he reached up to grab a handful of Merlin's neckerchief and yank his friend's head and attention down to a level with his own face.

His friend's face wrinkled with a childlike confusion, his eyes clouding as they met Arthur's. "Ouch," he said.

"Oh, please," Arthur said, releasing the scrap of material. "That didn't –"

Merlin straightened, frowning at something just beyond Arthur's range of vision on his right. "No, I mean – _ouch_," he repeated.

Arthur twisted to see six inches of a slender wooden shaft protruding from the side of the back of his wooden seat, pinning Merlin's sleeve in place. A small red stain marred the blue material where it was stuck between the narrow shaft and Merlin's forearm.

He eased himself up from his chair, aware as always of the high visibility of his position, the necessity of keeping the crowd from alarming. Encouraging Merlin to move slightly, he took in at a glance the angle of the – _damn_ – crossbow bolt. Arthur leaned over the edge of the box, searching the crowd beneath – a dark face, a hooded figure, someone looking upward at them rather than watching the knights position themselves to joust… nothing. Not a single hint of the assassin that he could point out to the guards to follow, to track down. He followed the line the bolt must have flown with his eyes – there were fully ten men along its course that might have shot the thing, none any more suspicious than the others, and three of whom had dark skin.

He cursed, viciously and shortly, keeping his shielded body between Merlin and the open side of the box. Uther glanced up, and a moment later Morgana did the same, and he jerked the bolt free from the wood of his chair. Merlin's eyes were wide, on him, but he said nothing.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked him. He peeled his sleeve back to check, then nodded.

"Arthur?" the king said, a question and a warning.

He seated himself on the edge of the large high-backed chair, leaning across the arm of his toward the arm of his father's seat, showing both of them the bolt. "This isn't working, my lord," he stated as firmly and respectfully as he could manage. "This one was aimed at Merlin." He didn't have to say, if it had been a successful attack, he himself would have been instantly vulnerable to a second arrow before anyone could realize the first had struck. He didn't say, if he hadn't randomly yanked Merlin down, the bolt might have struck the younger man in heart or throat… "If he can't get to me, he's going to start going through others," Arthur continued. "Like the guard he strangled, like Merlin. Maybe you, my lord, maybe Morgana. He's ruthless – more will die before we catch him. Many more, perhaps."

Uther's face was impassive as he looked down at the deadly dart in Arthur's hand, the stain of drying red that was Merlin's blood. Morgana leaned across the space between her chair and Uther's, across their father, to take the bolt from him and examine it. And seeing it in his daughter's hand – as she rubbed a bit of smeared red thoughtfully between dainty fingers, the king raised his eyes to Arthur's.

"Have you a different suggestion?"

"Draw him out," Arthur said. "Give him his opening – then catch him when he takes it."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

Arthur knew his father was not going to like what he had to say. But he refused to sit still and let others take the risk any longer. It was time to take his courage to the field. "You're going to have to trust me," he said levelly. "And you're going to have to trust him." He jerked his head to indicate the young sorcerer behind him.

Uther's gray eyes were hard as he studied the young man over his son's shoulder. Then he gave one short nod.

…..*…..

Merlin stood at the far end of the list, fairly trembling with tension, a nervous anticipation that wouldn't settle but turned in his belly as if seeking escape. Why, oh why had he agreed to Arthur's plan?

The great bay charger next him shifted also, as if sensing his uneasiness. Arthur moved with his mount, controlling him instinctively. The prince raised his lance in salute to the crowd, to the king, his smile brilliant and eager – so much happier, Merlin knew, facing danger head-on and in a physical way, rather than waiting on someone else's action.

"People of Camelot!" Uther's voice boomed out over the crowd cheering the appearance of their beloved crown prince. They quieted to hear the king proclaim again the plan that Arthur had formed that morning. Prince Arthur, being so much recovered from the training injury that had not allowed him to compete, had agreed to meet the victor of this years' tournament – cheers for Sir Alynor – in an exhibition match as an extra treat for the spectators.

This was what they'd spent all day yesterday and all morning avoiding – and now found themselves helping to orchestrate. Merlin put out his hand to touch Arthur's leg, the greave covering his shin. Arthur anticipated his not-quite-casual-enough gesture, and his heel moved, commanding the charger to step sideways out of Merlin's reach.

"No," Arthur said down at him. "I told you, no magical reinforcement of the armor. It's not fair to Alynor."

"I don't care about _fair_," Merlin told him, "I care about _alive_. It's an exhibition, anyway, you can't take his victory away from him."

"It is," Arthur said loftily, crooking his finger for the crimson-liveried servant to hand him his helmet, "a matter of _honor_."

"What use is honor if you're dead?" Merlin asked reasonably.

Arthur flashed him a smile before settling the helmet on his head. "That is what I have you for." Merlin grunted and moved to the side, away from Arthur's charger.

The stands were guarded – no one could move in or out at all, anymore. Loiterers had been cleared from the ends of the lists, only a pair of official attendants – all four light of skin and hair, just to be on the safe side – waited to assist in case of injury to man or horse. _Full armor_, Merlin reminded himself, forcing his eyes to roam over the excited citizens waving from the stands in a systematic way, slow scrutiny rather than wild searching. _Full armor, at a gallop. And when the assassin shoots the crossbow – as he surely will, he cannot pass up such a chance, such an ironic death for the one he was paid to kill – I will see, or Leon will see_. Leon was opposite Merlin, keeping watch into the stands on that side. _And then we'll have him_.

He was looking away when Arthur kicked his mount into the charge. The ground trembled under his boots; the wooden side of the audience-boxes shuddered under his hand. His eyes reached the top row of citizens – nothing – swept across them again, searching with eyes and magic for anything out of place, any weapon no matter how disguised –

When the lance struck Arthur, Merlin _felt_ it.

Splinters flew from both lances like a shower of straws, but that pain wasn't the bruise of a well-placed hit upon protective armor. He stumbled back and almost fell, half his body numb from his jaw to his waist, a sharper pain in the hollow of his shoulder, and spun to see Arthur's body leaned limply backward in his saddle, bouncing like a child's doll as the well-trained horse finished the gallop.

Time slowed even as the crowd gasped, groaned. Merlin enhanced his vision and _looked_ – there was no shaft protruding from the prince's body. He turned his head toward Leon's side of the crowd – no crossbow extended. Leon turned to look directly across at him, pointing him to his duty at Arthur's side; the charger wheeled and began to trot back to its place.

Even an exhibition match included three runs, with a five-minute break between. Merlin sprinted after the charger, Arthur beneath the heavy armor beginning to show sluggish signs of regaining control of his body. The attendants as a pair slowed, caught, and held the horse; Merlin snatched the prince out of the saddle, taking his full weight over his own still-aching shoulder, and half-dragged, half-supported him from the lists to Leon's tent – as the two finalists, Leon's and Alynor's tents had remained standing for the afternoon championship.

"His lance pierced my armor," Arthur gasped into his ear, as surprised as Merlin was grim. The lances were blunt-tipped, to deliver a bruising punch but splinter before any serious wound was inflicted. Accidents happened, of course, but Merlin did not believe in coincidences when it came to Arthur's safety.

He knelt as he eased Arthur back into a chair, impatiently setting his magic to pour a beaker of water and bring it from a side table. Arthur raised his head slowly to watch it settle next to his arm, as Merlin unbuckled the outer bits of armor in an attempt to find his wound. But beneath the plate armor was the chainmail, the padded jacket, shirt.

"You're bleeding," he told the prince, "but I can't see it…" If it was a stray unlucky splinter – or even an intentional arrow - that would have remained lodged in the wound.

The tent flap rustled behind him. It was Leon. "I saw the tip of the lance that struck him," he told them quickly, "there was a hidden blade. I went to Alynor's tent - he's dead." Merlin paused with his hand half-inside the gap in Arthur's chainmail at the neck, staring at the scout.

"It's got to be Myror," Merlin said.

"I'd go after him, but the minute he thinks we know, he'll kick that horse and be gone," Leon said swiftly. "We have two minutes until Arthur has to be back out there. If he doesn't go – same thing."

He knew what Leon was saying; he knew Arthur did as well. "Put the armor on me," Merlin argued desperately. "I can manage to sit a charger and hold a lance, long enough to get close enough –"

Arthur snorted at the claim, and Leon said, "There's no time, Merlin. But now that you know…" As he spoke, he deftly replaced the armor that Merlin had already removed.

The prince pushed himself up unsteadily from the chair. "At least let me heal you before you go," Merlin said, rising under Arthur's arm to continue supporting his friend.

"No time," Arthur said shortly, shuffling from the tent.

But by the time they reached the charger, held by one of the two waiting attendants, Arthur had moved away from Merlin's side and was walking – although slowly and deliberately, with an occasional slightly-misplaced step – on his own. He lifted his foot to the stirrup, and Merlin helped to shove his weight up to the saddle. The other attendant passed Arthur the lance; down the list, the other rider – completely anonymous in full armor – responded to Arthur prompting his mount into the charge, leveling his own lance.

Merlin concentrated – then waited, deliberately. He knew as well as any the reason the assassin's arrival and target had been kept secret – the peace of Camelot, the confidence of the people. Counted the seconds, the hoof-beats, the heart-beats. Closer, closer… He whispered, "_Onbinde tha teage_," and the result was instantaneous.

The other saddle slipped, the rider's deadly lance rising away from the prince as he fought for balance, at the very moment that Arthur's lance – steady and strong, he was proud to see – slammed and splintered into the assassin's chest. And because the saddle was not secure, would not aid the rider in keeping his seat, the armored body flipped right over the charger's rump, landed heavily and crookedly in the sand.

Attendants came running. To catch the riderless stead, to check the fallen man – he saw Leon's back and knew the true identity would remain hidden – Merlin met Arthur returning trotting down the list, and followed silently.

Once again, he caught the prince's weight as he dismounted, once again dragged his friend to the tent. And this time he didn't hesitate to strip the armor as quickly and gently as possible, his fingers searching for the wound – hidden blade, Leon had said – whispering words of healing even before he could see anything. Arthur glanced to the side for the forgotten cup of water, and lifted it to drink.

Once again, the tent flap rustled. Uther and Morgana, but neither Merlin nor Arthur straightened in the presence of the king. "I am fine," Arthur said, as firmly as he could manage, before they had a chance to say anything.

Merlin didn't look up, or slow his bloodied fingers about their work. Give him another five minutes, and Arthur wouldn't be a liar.

"I spoke to Leon and Gaius," Uther said. "Alynor had been strangled, as the guard was strangled." Merlin heard in the king's tone what he'd never say in so many words to Arthur's face, _you were right_. The assassin had killed another in order to get closer to the prince. "The assassin is dead; broken neck, Gaius says. From the fall." The king cleared his throat. "Odin must be made to pay for his actions," he remarked. "We must strike back at him."

Arthur shifted in his chair and Merlin paused to be sure he wasn't inadvertently causing his prince pain or discomfort, but his eyes were focused on his father. "Surely you can understand the grief he feels for the loss of his son," Arthur said evenly. "There's been enough bloodshed – and he _has_ paid." Merlin hid a wry grin at the thought of the foreign king handing out a bag of gold for a job that never would be done.

"Perhaps you're right." Uther paused, and Merlin moved around the chair to better reach the next buckle. "Well done," the king added deliberately.

Arthur said nothing, but caught at Merlin's sleeve. He stopped, confused, and followed the prince's glance to the king's face. And Uther, to Merlin's shock, was looking at _him_, including him in the compliment. The king held his gaze imperiously for one brief moment, before concluding with a nod, and turned to leave.

The prince laughed softly, as Morgana moved to refill the beaker of water. "Merlin," he said, resting his head on the back of the chair, turned to watch Merlin's face as he worked. "_Well done_."

Merlin grinned. "You as well, my lord. I guess we could say you emerged a worthy champion, after all."


	15. A Different Nightmare

** A Different Nightmare**

"Well?" the king demanded.

The storm still grumbled in the distance; the smoke and stench of burned fabric lingered in the air. Arthur watched – they all watched – Merlin at the window.

The maid – swearing one last time that she was _sure_ she'd blown out the candle – had bundled the charry mess of the curtains out. A guard stood by, waiting to fasten the shutter when the nod was given. Gaius had given Morgana an extra dose of something – foul-tasting, Arthur was sure, but Morgana seemed too distraught to notice – and Uther had rejected Arthur's theory of a lightning-strike in favor of his theory of a magical attack upon the princess.

Merlin had touched nothing. He'd simply studied the window alcove - the smudged bare stone, the damaged curtain, the candle, the table the candle rested upon - keeping his boots from the broken glass that would have to be swept and collected on the morrow. Arthur had been watching, and he was quite sure that Merlin's eyes had not shown the gleaming gold of magic even once during his examination.

The young man turned, his face impassive but for a small wrinkle between his eyebrows. He met their eyes in turn – Uther, Gaius, Morgana, himself – then shrugged and turned his gaze on the edge of the rug. "There has been no strange magic performed here tonight," he declared, his voice soft but definite. "There was no attack."

The king humphed but appeared to take him at his word. Arthur glanced at his half-sister and physician, caught the old man's raised eyebrow and Morgana's surprise. He felt the same – there was something deceptive about Merlin's simple phrase. The words themselves might have been the truth, taken separately, but the intent of the whole was to cover or conceal.

Tomorrow, he thought to himself, as Uther went to comfort Morgana, and the guard began his task of boarding the window, and Merlin himself slipped away. Tomorrow he'd corner the young sorcerer in private and demand the full truth.

…..*…..

Merlin waited, lingering in a shadowy alcove, waited until the king left and the prince, back to their own chambers and their own beds. The storm was over. For tonight. He waited until the guard had finished his work and departed, also.

Then he stepped to the landing outside the princess' door, dimly lit by a single torch placed to show the curved stair also. He knew they knew, though it could not be said before the king – not yet, and not by _him_ in any case. But he knew she would have questions to be answered, and he thought he'd at least offer to be there for the answering.

He heard Morgana's voice, first, still trembling. "It happened so quickly, Gaius, I was terrified."

"It's all right," the old physician soothed. He'd remain, probably, until the sleeping draught took effect and she rested in peaceful slumber. "You're safe now."

"It was me," Morgana said, in a different voice. A stronger voice, of dawning realization. "Wasn't it. I set the room alight, I started the fire."

Merlin took a deep breath, and let it out silently, without betraying his presence. Of course the dreams were magic of a sort, they all accepted the nature of her – well, what, exactly, affliction gift condition blessing? – without labeling it magic, but this was different. Different, even, than the ability to hear the voice of the druid boy in her mind; that was fairly simple, a reception made possible by latent ability.

Gaius said, "I don't understand, did you knock a candle over?" Merlin frowned; was the old man not paying full attention to what she said?

"No, that's not what happened. I did it just… by looking at it," Morgana said, sounding confused. "The flame suddenly leapt higher." Merlin smiled; fire was his element. He wondered what her affinity might turn out to be.

"It could have been a gust of wind." Now the old physician sounded merely stubborn.

"It wasn't." Morgana could be stubborn also, but Merlin could hear in her voice that the draught was taking hold. She added, "It was me, it was magic," but her tone was faint and docile.

Gaius continued soothingly, "It was an accident – lightning, Arthur said; not magic, Merlin said – it had nothing to do with you. How could it have. I am going to draw you up a fresh remedy that will make you feel better tomorrow, I promise. You must trust me, Morgana."

Merlin made himself take a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. Again he put his back to the wall, waiting for his mentor to finish with the patient and emerge. It was only a few moments, not enough for the emotion that had risen in his chest at the old man's words to cool.

"Is she sleeping?" he said, as Gaius pulled the door closed. The old physician startled, but turned away to begin to descend the stairs without looking at him. "It was magic," Merlin said, keeping his voice low as he followed. "You know it was, and more importantly, so does she."

"Morgana knows nothing for certain," Gaius told him.

"That makes it even worse," he persisted. "She isn't sure what's happening to her and it's tearing her apart."

This late at night, there was no one about other than guards at their regular stations; they both were familiar enough with these posts to drop the conversation until they were past, and pick it up once they were out of earshot again. "What would you have me do?" the old man said tiredly.

"Talk to her," Merlin said to the back of his mentor's head. "Tell her that she'll be okay, that her powers aren't something to be afraid of."

"I can't," Gaius said shortly, without turning to look at him.

Merlin remembered, _give her aid and instruction to the best of your abilities._ "Maybe I could speak to her."

This time, Gaius stopped so swiftly Merlin almost ran into him. "No, Merlin, you can't," he said firmly, scowling.

"Why not? I understand what she's going through. I could at least _talk_ –"

"You cannot get involved, Merlin," Gaius said. He glanced past Merlin to see if the corridor was still deserted. "Her dreaming is manageable. But this – it was for this reason that you lied to the king about the fire. If Uther knew that his daughter was capable of working magic there is no telling what the consequences would be – for you, for me, for _her_."

"But he's her _father_," Merlin protested, exasperated. "Eventually he would understand –"

"He would blame you!" the old man thundered. "She has shown no sign of magic her whole life – and now, barely a year since your arrival in Camelot –" He sighed, but did not relent. "I mean it, Merlin, stay out of it."

_A favor_, the voice of the High Priestess said. _Aid and instruction_.

"She needs _someone_," he said in a low voice. "You cannot believe that this will be an isolated incident." Gaius glowered at him a moment longer, then he wheeled and stomped back to his chambers.

Merlin saw Morgana's face in his mind's eye as he folded himself in the blanket, turning on his bed to look into the tiny flame moving atop his single candle. Bone-white and terrified. He shut his eyes, extinguishing his light with a thought. It should not be so. Magic should delight, not frighten.

He cast his mind back to childhood, even to infancy, trying to remember what it had felt like, to discover magic. Before he was four, and Alvarr standing in front of the clan. He could not recall discovering that he could do magic. So many others in the camp could, older children and adults. It had seemed as natural to him as breathing or sleeping or waking or walking. Something everyone did as a matter of course. _Control_ was learned; magic was instinct.

Gaius was his elder in years and experience, in loyalty to Camelot and the Pendragons. It was the old man's responsibility to handle the situation they found themselves in with Morgana. But… Merlin fell asleep amid memories of his earliest training.

He dreamed he was a very small boy, kicking his heels on a stump as Iseldir bent over his extended wrist with an instrument at once pen and needle. But instead of pricking his skin, the druid elder opened his mouth and breathed, and the twisting swirls and knots of darkest green spread and curled on his skin like fire. He watched as the familiar patterns took shape in a green so dark it was nearly black, then crawled past his elbow, up toward his shoulder. Curious, he cocked his head at his tutor, and somehow it was not a bit shocking to see Kilgarrah's great red-gold head instead of Iseldir's form. Not shocking at all to resume maturity, himself.

_I have lived_, the ancient dragon said ruminatively, _more than a thousand years. I have seen civilizations rise and fall… I have seen those at the heart of destiny whose choices are so obscured that none may guess the outcome. Merlin, the witch cannot be trusted. _

_What witch?_ In his dream, Merlin looked around the druid encampment, a dozen tents in a craggy dell, half expecting to see the darkly beautiful Nimueh.

_It would be better if the witch never knew the true extent of her powers_, Kilgarrah told him with sympathetic gravity.

_Do you mean Morgana? _he said incredulously. _She's my friend. She has a good heart. And everyone deserves the chance to discover all they might become, to choose._

Kilgarrah rose from his crouch, and the clearing swirled into mist around them. _You have failed to heed my advice in the past, and there are grave consequences someday to be faced,_ he said.

Merlin stood, even knowing it was a dream. _You mean Mordred?_ he demanded.

_And the blade you requested for me to forge for the young Pendragon._

_ That's safe under Dinas Emrys_, Merlin reminded the largest of his kin. _And you can offer no proof that Mordred is a threat other than your vague prophecies. I told you once, I will not judge anyone for something they have not yet done!_ It was bad enough, the deaths he was responsible for when someone _had_ committed some evil.

Smoke spurted in a short-tempered snort. _If you pursue this course of action, you do so alone._

_ So be it,_ Merlin said. Even if he didn't owe Morgause anything for the life of his mother, even if Morgana was a stranger from the lower town, he would still help someone startled and scared at the unexpected emergence of magic. _I will not abandon her._

It stormed the second night, also. Merlin had been sent out herb-gathering all day; he suspected that Gaius wanted him to have no chance to speak to Morgana, and hoped it was because the old man intended to handle that conversation alone and in his own way. He barely made it back to the citadel before the heavens opened and dumped their wet burden down upon the land.

When he reached the physician's chambers, Gaius wasn't there. There was a note left for Merlin excusing his mentor due to the king's condition – an old war wound exacerbated by the weather. Merlin hung his damp jacket to dry and swallowed the dinner that had been left cooling on the table for him.

He'd just started going around the room, blowing out the candles that served for illumination, when the door banged open and the princess stormed in. She was wearing a white nightdress and a filmy white over-robe with lavish gold embroidery; he jumped and bumped a decanter with his elbow, instinctively freezing it in place. He backed a step away as she advanced, and knocked another jug off the table – freezing that one as well.

That brought a smile to her face. "Just stand still, Merlin," she advised. He smiled sheepishly and brought both vessels safely back to the table. "Is Gaius here?" she asked; though the answer was obvious, the question sufficed for further queries.

"No, but he should be back soon," Merlin said. "He's with your father – what's wrong?"

She sighed and looked him over with an odd dissatisfaction. "Well, if I can't trust _you_, I don't know who I can trust," she said, with the air of someone forced to accept a last resort. She came to the table and he saw that she was cradling something in her hands; she opened them and let a clatter of broken potsherds spill onto the surface of the table.

Merlin was confused – was the vase terribly expensive, then? Something prized by the king, maybe? And she thought she'd be in trouble for breaking it? "Do you want me to fix it?" he asked.

"_Fix_ it – oh! no, that's not important," she said. She glanced about, then collapsed onto the bench, tucking her arms and legs together in an attitude of ladylike woe. "I'm scared, Merlin. I don't understand anything, anymore. I need to know what's happening."

He straddled the bench on the opposite side of the table, stirred the broken pieces of her vase, examining them to see if he could figure how they should be put together. He was fairly sure she wasn't talking about the broken pottery, anymore, but Gaius had warned him to say nothing about magic to the king's daughter. "I wasn't lying last night, my lady," he said softly, keeping his eyes on the pieces, rearranging them with more focus than necessary. "There was no attack."

"But it was magic." She sat forward on the bench, putting her elbow on the table and pointing her finger at him. "You know it, don't you? Please, I just need to hear someone say it, so I don't have to keep feeling I'm imagining it."

"Last night," Merlin said. "What happened? A nightmare?"

She cocked her head as if the thought hadn't occurred to her. "No – at least, I don't remember. I was sleeping, and when I opened my eyes, the candle was alight. I – remembering thinking how cold it was – the storm – and suddenly the whole curtain was on fire."

"And tonight?" Merlin used both hands to fit the two pieces of a tiny decorative handle together.

"The storm," she said, as if it should have been obvious. The window of the main chamber was shuttered against the elements, but the noises of thunder and driving rain were still audible. "There was a loud clap of thunder. It startled me, and my vase exploded." He glanced up to see her pull a face. "Water and flowers everywhere." She tapped her fingers on the rough wooden surface of the table, watched him try to match the edges of two pieces. "Merlin – do I have magic?"

"What you have," he said slowly, carefully, doing her the courtesy of meeting her eyes, "is a gift. Your dreams – it is magic… of a kind."

"And this?" she demanded, flicking the largest piece and setting it rocking.

"Most people who can use magic decide to learn it," he said neutrally. "There are a few who demonstrate the ability unexpectedly, though." It was usually an indication of the strength of the magician, though, and to his understanding, those rare few who discovered magic that way did so in childhood. But she was different – the seer's ability had been active in her for years.

She scowled at him. "I don't like it," she said bluntly. "I don't want it. The dreams – Gaius' sleeping draught blocks all but the most important, and then I know that I can count on Arthur or Gaius to listen to what I saw and help to prevent the worst. But this – it's destructive, Merlin. I don't want to set fires and explode things."

He gave her a wry, friendly smile. "Sometimes you don't choose magic," he told her, "sometimes magic chooses you."

"Is that how you started?" she asked him with a hint of her customary sarcasm. "Setting your room on fire?"

"You mean my tent?" he said, grinning to remind her of his upbringing. She rolled her eyes and twirled her finger for him to answer the question she meant, not the one she'd asked. "No. The druids start the children young on exercises of control. That way when those who can use magic start, it's not frightening and overwhelming. Like – crawling, then walking, then running."

"This gift," she said, only half-joking, "it's not something I can give back?"

" 'Fraid not," he said.

"Did you ever want to?" she questioned him. "Give it back?"

He filled his lungs and exhaled slowly. "No," he said honestly. There were times in the past when he'd wished uselessly for what could never be – an ordinary life, an ordinary family. But the great and rare power had led him to Dinas Emrys; the dragonlord blood and heritage meant prophecy – and Arthur.

She looked at him a moment as if she could read his thoughts, before an arch smile crossed her lips. "It must be hard," she said, shaking her head slowly, "to be fated to spend your life at my brother's side."

He grinned back at her. "He's not so bad."

She looked away. "No. But my father… Merlin, he can't know. About my magic. Not ever."

"But he –"

"He would be so disappointed," she said, turning still further, so he could see nothing of her face but the pale curve of her cheek. "I'm sure he wouldn't want me in Camelot anymore. And as for marriage…" She huffed sourly. "A princess with magic would be utterly useless to the king of Camelot as far as marriage alliances were concerned."

"Morgana," Merlin protested, but she didn't turn. "Look." He summoned his magic, circling his hand over the organized wreckage of her vase. The pieces rose, twisted, clicked as they fit together. For a moment the vessel floated in midair, whole but webbed with cracks and chips; he made another gesture like he was wiping the surface, and the pottery smoothed and fused. "Magic isn't a dark art that must be shrouded in secrecy. It can be beautiful, it can be used to do good things. Listen – I'll teach you some exercises so that you can learn to recognize your magic, control it, work with it, eventually."

"No more fires or broken vases?" she said, her eyes on the mended container.

"It may take some time," he said. Magic was connected very closely to a person's emotions; he of course had a lifetime of understanding his, of controlling and calming, and only rarely had an outburst – but even then, the magic generally did something he intended, something useful. Like when his magelight had guided Arthur from the cave even though he wasn't present, or when he'd blocked the ax Edwin Muirden had thrown at him. But the princess – from what he'd seen of her and what he understood of her upbringing, she had never been required to the same levels of calm and control. She was fiery and passionate, often speaking her mind before thinking twice.

She nodded, accepting this. "I have tomorrow afternoon free," she told him. "If Gaius will give you a few hours, you can teach me this control – and then, at least, I won't have to worry about doing magic in front of my father."

He cringed. Gaius had told him once many years ago, that Morgana did not have the patience for medical study or work, but surely she'd matured since then. "It may," he said carefully, "be many years before you fully understand it."

She stared at him for a moment of bleak disbelief, then shook her shoulders, causing the translucent over-robe to ripple. "It doesn't matter," she said. "However long it takes. I can't live the rest of my life afraid that I'm going to break things when someone slams a door behind me, or set my bed afire when I'm cold at night. You'll teach me, then?"

He smiled, feeling his heartbeat increase its pace. _It would be better_, Kilgarrah warned, in his memory, _never knew the true extent of her powers_... And he'd never had occasion to be in the position of instructing, before. And this was the princess. "Of course, my lady."

…..*…..

Arthur was not lurking. Princes did not lurk in their own palace. He was merely waiting. In the shadow of an archway, at the foot of the stairs, for someone who would turn the other way when he descended.

It had been a very strange week, following the two stormy nights. He'd caught only glimpses of Merlin – though the young man had not seemed busy with assignments from the physician – the black-haired druid boy almost always in company with the black-haired princess. Arthur had discovered that Morgana had visited the physician's chambers every day that week, and sometimes more than once, though she showed no sign of illness. Her daily ride seemed to correspond mysteriously with Merlin's herb-gathering trips… and this was the second time Arthur had caught the young man going out of his way to pass by the princess' chambers. And linger.

"So where are my flowers?" Arthur said in a light, teasing tone, as Merlin's feet hit the last stair.

Merlin stumbled and almost fell, but when he faced the prince, his expression held nothing but innocence. "Your flowers?" He didn't stop, but backed slowly across the vaulted hall toward the passage leading down toward his own residence.

Arthur followed him, content to take the conversation further from Morgana's room also. "I heard Morgana received a bouquet – I assumed you'd be putting them in all the rooms." He bared his teeth at the younger man in a grin. "Or is she the only one to receive a token of your affections?"

"Yes," Merlin said, then frowned and shook his head. "Ah, no. What? No, it's not a token of anything, affection or otherwise."

"I see," Arthur drawled sarcastically. "They meant nothing – that was why you were trying to hide them from me?"

"I wasn't," Merlin objected, then seemed to recall the incident more clearly, and shot a confused glance at Arthur. "I mean, I was. I just – I didn't want you to get the wrong impression."

"Of course," Arthur said, as if suddenly enlightened, and Merlin's shoulders relaxed in relief. Then Arthur added, "What's the right impression, then?"

"That – I was trying to cheer her up after the fire." Merlin nodded, pleased with his reasoning. Made up on the spot, Arthur was sure.

"Pick them yourself?" he asked casually.

"Maybe." The tips of Merlin's ears were pink. "I was only trying to be nice."

"Well," Arthur said, deciding that the teasing had broken the ice of the issue that needed to be addressed, and now it was time to get serious, "it has to stop."

Merlin gave him an impudent look, deliberately misunderstanding. "I have to stop being nice?"

Arthur stopped walking and made sure Merlin stopped also, taking him by the upper arm. "A little subtlety?" he hinted, reminding his friend of a conversation they'd had when Arthur had fancied himself interested in the wrong girl. "Nothing will ever happen?" Those were the words Merlin had used to explain away his admiration at the time of Morgana's near-fatal illness.

"What?" Merlin's confusion was no longer feigned.

"The king would have your head," Arthur said – it was a figure of speech, of course, Uther knew very well that he could not accomplish Merlin's execution and both of them knew the king was too clever to attempt such a sentence – "if he found out, and there's no point denying it."

"Denying what?" There was a hint of real concern there; Arthur only hoped his friend could manage to return his feelings to an appropriate relationship with the princess without too much hurt.

"Your affections for the lady," he repeated pointedly.

"Oh! oh, yes. I mean, of course, Arthur – nothing will ever happen." He shook his head, scoffing at one or both of them. "You have my word."

Arthur nodded, accepting the promise and dismissing his friend, remaining in the corridor to watch the younger man walk away. He probably never could think of Morgana in a romantic relationship without shuddering, but objectively, he didn't blame her. He supposed a young woman probably would find the magic – and the dragons – fascinating.

He shuddered anyway, and turned to head to his own room, resolving to put the matter from his mind.

…..*…..

It was early when Merlin left Camelot. Halfway through the second month of spring, there was a chill in the air, which his cloak kept off admirably, and a vertitable carpet of colorful blossoms underfoot, beginning to open in anticipation of the day's sunlight. The further he traveled from the city, the more relaxed he became. He need wait on no man's pleasure but his own, he need feel no one's eyes on him – judging, evaluating, speculating. There was no restriction on actions or words, out here.

The week had started hopefully enough. Morgana was eager to learn the exercises that would help her to control herself and her emotions enough to halt the involuntary expressions of her magic. That must be conquered before the question could be raised, how much more did she want to learn, what voluntary abilities might she want to master. Unfortunately, patience always had a limit, and Morgana's was sooner reached than most.

She was frustrated with slow progress; that made him doubt his ability as her instructor. And of course there was always the ridiculous warning Arthur had given him, of the suggestive nature of meeting her for lessons. He hoped that she would reach a level of comprehensive control, maybe learn a few simple spells, in order to demonstrate to Uther that his daughter having magic need not be a terrible disappointment – that the king's mind might be turned from punishment to permission.

So Merlin had taken two days, with Gaius' grudging blessing – the old man had not been happy to hear about Merlin's offer to tutor the princess in magic – and was traveling to the nearest druid camp, to speak to the elders about the situation.

The Forest of Ascetir was inhospitable at its most passive. It was very old, the trees gnarled and massive and wary, the earth dark with decay, and never dry dust but always dank and treacherous. Abrupt rises and unexpected drops, paths begun without warning and leading in circles before disappearing - rocky and broken, riddled with ravines that wound and deepened and narrowed before choking at an impasse.

Merlin needed most of his attention simply to travel at a decent pace without endangering himself, but his magic was alert to the world around him, also. It wasn't just the terrain that was a danger, in Ascetir.

He felt the light, tiny consciousness of living things – birds, squirrels, rabbits – as well as darker and more secretive sentience, and chose his path accordingly. Now and again he felt something at the edge of his awareness, curious and shy and wild, following him maybe, but without malevolence. He figured whatever it was would either approach in time or fade away when he neared the druid encampment.

It was late afternoon when he sensed the serkets. Usually nocturnal, as he understood them, they were as nasty a creature as their tiny scorpion cousins, hunting not only for sustenance, but from curiosity or even boredom, likelier to attack an unwary traveler as to let it go, and fiercely territorial.

Merlin stopped in the bottom of a gorge, too narrow to allow the creatures passage, and deep enough to drop him out of range of their barbed tails. Gathering an armful of fallen branches and sticks, he lit the bundle with his magic, the heat and smoke enough to draw the adults of the species to investigate, while he continued unhindered. He guessed that there was a nest nearby, young hatched in the spring as with any other animal – that was a danger all its own. The young would not venture far, but they remained in the large group of their nest-mates, and of course the poison in their stingers was more potent for there being less of it. He'd be very cautious to skirt that area with a hundred yards to spare or more.

His distraction smoking and sputtering sufficiently, Merlin traveled on, now focusing a good bit of his attention on locating the druids specifically. He listened, able to hear faint snatches of telepathic conversation, enough to provide a directional guide; they were as yet unaware of his approach.

Or so he believed until a woman screamed his name.

He froze in place, surprised and uncertain, and the cry came again, "_Merlin_!" From behind him; he whirled, suddenly fearful that he knew that voice. And why she was screaming for him.

If he'd known someone was following him, he'd not have built that fire.

He sprinted through the wood, back the way he had come, back to the avoided nesting-grounds. As he crested a hill, he saw the woman – Morgana, in an eye-catching cloak and matching dress of Camelot crimson – bat at a serket hatchling, already larger than the royal hunting hounds, with a length of branch.

It was the closest, but by no means the only. Twenty of them, or so, surrounded the princess. Curiosity had provoked them – his attack would only anger and excite them. He didn't hesitate, sliding down the embankment, hollering out the spell, "_Awendap eft wansaeliga neatu_!" The half-dozen with their backs to him skittered back out of his way, creating a gap. "Morgana, run!" She turned to him, taking two running steps. Behind her – where he could not aim a spell for fear of hitting her – one shiny black sectioned tail darted forward. Morgana screamed and went down. Merlin leaped into the center of the circle, calling out, "_Forlaetan me_!" to ward them off.

There was blood on Morgana's leg where her skirt revealed skin; he hissed a curse. Possibly they two could have outrun the hatchlings, but he could not carry her fast enough or defend them both with magic at the same time. Kilgarrah had already said he would not help. That left…

_Clan elders!_ he bellowed out silently, they were close enough that most of the camp should be able to hear him. _Help us! Serkets – we are surrounded and injured!_ They'd be able to locate Merlin and Morgana by that – and quickly, he hoped.

She was drooping already, blinking against the effects of the poison. He dropped down beside her, speaking a rapid healing spell, then wordlessly gesturing for an encircling fire to spring up around them. The flames' heat and light momentarily drove off the serkets, but they were aroused and intent and fed off each others' curiosity and rage. And in this damp dark forest even his fires had nothing to sustain them naturally, and subsided to a smoky haze that smothered him without bothering the scorpion-like creatures that scuttled close to the ground. He called up a wind to clear the smoke – he couldn't fight if he couldn't see, not with allies expected imminently – and whirled to blast away a serket approaching Morgana again.

And gasped in a fiery paralysis of pain as a poison-tipped barb stabbed into his lower back. He couldn't breathe. His heart kicked twice.

Wounded. Increasingly incapable of defense for the lady. Their lives in danger. How far was help? He roared his reaction of fury, sending them all tumbling backwards, then panted to give his body the breath to lift his face to the darkening sky, calling out in an agony of desperation, "O_ drakon! E male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes! Aithusa!"_

Morgana's eyes were still on him, but her body had already succumbed to the immobility of unconsciousness. His hand fumbled at his back, trying to calculate where he'd been hit – which organ, which muscle, how long did he have, how long before he was struck again, or she was, how long before help – the smoky, blurry world tilted as he crashed onto his side, and then all was darkness.

…..*…..

"Morgana," Arthur said again, thumping his fist on her door, rather than rapping with his knuckles as he had for his first call. No answer. He tried the latch; she hadn't locked it from the inside. "Morgana, it's Arthur, I'm –" He stopped before the door was fully open.

The room was deserted, he could feel that. The hearth as cold as if there had been no fire even to welcome the chill of an early new day. Nothing out of place, as if its owner had set it down negligently, intended to return after moments' delay.

He studied the room, frowning. No one had seen his sister all day, no breakfast had been served, nor noon meal, either. He wondered if it had anything to do with his warning to Merlin; Morgana always sulked if denied her will in any affair. Sulked, or circumvented. At least he knew she wasn't with Merlin; Gaius had already told him the younger man had taken a few days' leave to visit one of the druid camps.

His eye fell upon a folded scrap of parchment propped between two bottles on her dressing table, and without stopping to consider propriety, he crossed the room and unfolded it. _Dear Arthur_, was written across the top in Morgana's generous scrawl. Surprised that it was meant for him to find, he scanned the rest swiftly. _Not happy here… father wouldn't understand… need to get away… start a new life…_

Ye gods. They hadn't. He wouldn't, not after he _promised_… Arthur hurried from the room, leaping down the stairs and nearly running Leon down as he passed.

"Leon!" he said, remembering a detail from his conversation with Gaius. "Merlin asked you about druid camps in the area yesterday, didn't he?"

"Yes, sire," Leon answered, puzzled but courteous. "He was going to -"

"What did you tell him?"

"The closest druid clan was reported by patrol to be camping in the Forest of Ascetir," Leon answered.

Arthur thought quickly. They'd left that morning, and on foot – he'd already checked the stables and found she hadn't disappeared to go riding – a troop of mounted knights could catch them up eventually, but not tonight. A couple of slow hours before camp needed to be made did not compare to the advantages of an early fresh start. He could set a few men to tracking, and take Leon directly to the druid camp.

"Be ready to ride at first light," he ordered the knight, crumpling the note in his clenched fist. The least he could do for his sister and his friend would be to cover their absence with Uther, until Arthur could find them and deal with them himself.

The next morning, Leon and Arthur trotted over the drawbridge of the citadel and out of Camelot in a controlled hurry to alarm none. When they reached the forested tracks they pushed their mounts as far as the road would take them, galloping, then walking to rest, then galloping again. Leon, as always, asked no questions beyond the practicalities of their excursion, but Arthur wondered how much the scout guessed. Deeper into the forest, and off the beaten paths, the two were soon forced to walk and lead the horses, and then to hobble them and leave them on long leads.

"By the reports, sire, the camp should be just down that valley," Leon said at last, pointing.

Arthur's temper was hanging by a thread. Ascetir was no picnic at the best of times; he felt tired and dirty and was not looking forward to the inevitable confrontation, feeling guilty and embarrassed as if he was the one caught in a misdeed of this magnitude. At least he had a solid excuse for the affair with Sophia – but Morgana was not a sidhe with designs on Merlin's soul. "Let's go," he said, leading the way.

Soon they could see the smoke rising from half-a-dozen firepits, the smooth sloping planes of the tents earth-colored and almost hidden among the rocks and roots jutting from banks. He crouched momentarily to watch the camp; he expected no violence, not from druids, but the relations between Camelot and the clans were shaky. If the prince came storming in demanding the return of fugitives the druids had agreed to shelter – and Merlin was one of their own, after all – he might be stalled until they could be spirited away, and then further delayed with a useless search.

Scattered around the tents were a few large barrels for water, tall baskets with waiting vegetables, lines strung between trees for drying laundry and unplucked fowl alike. And there was Morgana, her red velvet dress obscured by a brown cloak, leaning on the arm of a similarly-swathed man who supported her in a kindly and solicitous manner – as she limped slowly through the camp. Arthur straightened from his crouch; the man was bald and dark-skinned. What had happened? And where was Merlin?

He signaled to Leon to wait and watch, then strode forward, making no attempt to hide anymore. Though the other inhabitants of the camp were startled at his sudden appearance, no one ran or called warnings. The dark-skinned man noticed him without surprise; Morgana made a face like she'd run if she was able to, but instead sank down to sitting on a large log-seat.

"Aglain, my lord prince," the man said, to introduce himself, bowing with serene respect. "You will have much to discuss with m'lady; please let me know if there is anything you require."

"How about an explanation?" Arthur said aloud, his hands on his hips and his eyes on his sister as the druid elder retreated.

She bridled at his tone. "I did leave you a note, Arthur," she said. "So you would not have to waste your time coming after me."

"Have you lost your mind?" Arthur demanded incredulously. "You cannot think our father would actually permit you to continue this relationship, in Camelot or anywhere!"

"If I'm not in Camelot, then its not his business," Morgana snapped.

"And the druids?" Arthur said. "They're willing to risk the king's anger to help you?"

"They support me," Morgana said defensively.

"And Merlin?" Arthur said, keeping his voice level with an effort. He glanced around; the young sorcerer was nowhere to be seen. That made him angrier; it was unlike Merlin to be cowardly about anything. It was unlike Merlin to deliberately and selfishly do something he knew was wrong. "How does he figure into your decision?"

"It was his idea!" Morgana shot back.

"This –" Arthur gestured to indicate the camp, the forest, whatever injury caused her limp – "was _his_ idea?"  
"Well, no," she said, frowning and biting her lip. "This wasn't his fault – I was following him, you see, and –"

"Following him?" Arthur felt like shouting, or drawing his sword. "What the hell kind of elopement is that?"

She stared at him blankly, her mouth dropped open. "Elopement? With _Merlin_? How could you think that –" She began to laugh, helplessly, until she had to wipe tears from her eyes. Arthur, feeling once again like there was something he had missed, lowered himself slowly to sit next to her. "Good heavens, I don't want to join a druid clan because of _Merlin_, I want to join a druid clan because of me. Arthur – I have magic. More than the dreams. Merlin's been trying to teach me to control it, but…"

Arthur turned to gaze blankly into the cozy cookfire, remembering his friend's words. _No_ _strange magic; not an attack. I didn't want you to get the wrong impression._ He groaned and put his head in his hands.

"You can't imagine how nerve-wracking this week has been," Morgana said. "I've been terrified that something will happen – that Father will see, that someone will tell him – makes a right mess of the calming exercises Merlin's trying to teach me. And we can only steal a little time here and there, both of us so jumpy the whole time…" She sighed.

"Morgana," Arthur said, looking at her again. "Do you think Father will be more angry to find out you can shift a few dishes on the dinner table –"

"Or explode them," she murmured.

He ignored her, "Or to find out his daughter's run away to join the druids? You can't, Morgana. You can't stay, you have to go back with me."

"I don't want to," she said stubbornly. "They're like me, here, they understand –"

"They're not like you," he said softly, taking her hand. "You're a princess. Magic or not, you can't simply choose to leave that life and its responsibilities behind."

"When Father finds out, it won't be much of a life," she said bitterly. "I probably won't be welcome in Camelot, and as for a future and responsibilities…" She gave a harsh laugh. "Our prospects are limited anyway, Arthur, by our status and our father. I can say _No_ to proposals all day long but that's the only freedom I've got. What prince or lord or knight is going to offer for a princess who's also a sorceress? And if I do find someone to love and who accepts me –" her tone was mockingly exaggerated – "it's likely to be someone Father will refuse."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said quietly. He was in much the same boat. As a man, he could propose any engagement he wished, but it would have to be someone sanctioned by the king his father in order to produce a legitimate heir. They could wait until Uther's death or abdication for more freedom of choice – but they might be fifty, by then. "Morgana, your future cannot be here," he said. "Father will blame Merlin, and the druids. And when he's angry…"

She seemed to fold in on herself a little more. "So I must hide and deny who I am, fear every day the revelation of my secret?" she said.

"Or you can just tell him," Arthur said. "I'll be there for you, and Gaius, and Merlin, although – where _is_ Merlin?"

"Just up there," she said, pointing past the last tent of the camp. "It's a good thing you're here, actually, maybe the dragon will let you get close."

"Dragon?" he said blankly, standing and heading in the direction she'd pointed. He slowed when she snatched at his sleeve to force him to act as her crutch. "What happened?"

"Serkets," she said. "I was surrounded. Merlin saved my life, I think. The last thing I remember was him shouting a seriously scary spell – and then I woke up here. Aglain bandaged my leg; it's still sore, but he said Merlin must have neutralized the poison with magic before they found us."

"And the dragon?" Arthur asked, as they made their way up the hillside.

"He held off the serkets until the druids got to us."

Beyond the last tent was another, he realized, an oddly shaped thing, thin and white but not a material he recognized. Then it shifted, and he found himself meeting the large golden eye of the white dragon, one wing outstretched but curled downward protectively. "Aithusa," he said. The white dragon snorted twin curls of smoke; Arthur remembered Merlin greeting the dragons, and attempted a small bow of his own. "Merlin, Aithusa?" he asked.

The dragon considered him for a long moment. Then he bowed his head regally and lifted his wing.

Merlin lay facedown on the ground, too pale beneath smears of dirt and soot, and too still. There was blood around a tear in the back of his jacket. Arthur found he could not move. Not until he marked the slight rise and fall of his friend's body that reassured him – Merlin was still breathing. Still alive.

…..*…..

_Merlin_. Warmth billowed over him, as light and soothing as the piercing heat of the serket's stinger had been ruthless and agonizingly invasive. The voice was familiar and patient, but the presence of the speaker and the simple repetition of his name called him back to awareness. _Merlin_.

_Aithusa_? he questioned, without trying to move, open his eyes, or speak. _You came_?

A rumbling hum. _Merlin – others come. They ask me to allow them to approach_.

A distant curiosity. The white dragon was there, his sense an alert calm; there was no danger, no urgency. _The druids? Let them come, they can help._

_ The druids have healed Morgana almost fully already, brother._ Aithusa sounded amused. _Do you not remember? I healed you, also – but the serket's poison was strong, and you will be weak awhile yet._

_ Oh._ Merlin struggled to open his eyes, saw a blur of diffuse light. Saw two blurry human figures, male and female. _The – druids_?

_No_. Aithusa sent him a wordless image, a description of his visitors from a draconic perspective, complete with scent.

He blinked, trying to focus, and managed to croak, "Arthur?"

The male figure loomed, and he realized he was lying on his belly on the ground. The gray shadow bent, sat beside him. "Relax, Merlin, let me take a look," he heard Arthur say. He felt a tug at his jacket, felt the air hit his bare skin where Arthur moved his shirt.

" 'Thusa healed me," he mumbled in explanation.

Arthur huffed gently, prodding at him. "Not even a scar," he pronounced. "Impressive, Aithusa. How do you feel?"

It took Merlin a second to realize the question was directed to him. "Sleepy," he decided.

Arthur chuckled. "I'll have Gaius let you have an extra day off," he said. "Or the week, maybe? I have to take Morgana back to Camelot, but Leon can stay until you're ready, and come back with you?" Merlin grunted agreement. "We'll have a lot to talk about," the prince added, and his voice held a warning.

_He knows_, Merlin thought, sighing to himself. He squinted up as Arthur shifted himself to rise. "See you soon," he mumbled, and the prince chuckled, giving Merlin's shoulder a farewell pat.

…..*…..

Their father was waiting on the bottom step when Arthur rode into the courtyard, Morgana astride the horse behind him, arms around him for balance. He twisted his leg over the mount's mane to drop to the ground and reached up to help his sister down; Uther was right there to take his daughter in his arms.

"I was so, so worried about you," the king whispered into her hair, holding her close.

"I'm sorry," Morgana said, a little stiffly. She was facing away from Arthur, else he might have made faces to emphasize their father's obvious love. "I wandered further than I thought I had, and got lost, and fell…"

"Are you injured?" Uther said, releasing her in concern.

"My leg is a little sore," she answered. "I couldn't walk – and then Arthur found me." Their father met Arthur's eyes and gave him a heartfelt nod of thanks.

_Tell him_, Arthur silently advised his sister, as Uther turned to order that the princess be taken to Gaius. _Just tell him_.

…..*…..

"Merlin!" Morgana said, surprised to see him when she opened her door.

He gave her an embarrassed smile. "My lady," he said, acknowledging the difference in their status, in spite of the magic abilities they shared. "I wanted to check you were okay."

"I'm fine," she said. "You were hurt much worse."

"Yes, well, I had a dragon to heal me," he said humorously. "You had only me." She opened her door wider, an unspoken invitation for him to enter, but he shook his head. They had to be more careful now, than ever. Lessons would be few and far between, which was why – "I brought you this," he said, offering the large book he held to his chest.

"This is your magic book?" she said blankly, allowing it to fall open over her spread fingers, looking down at the random pages.

"Well, it's the one Gaius gave me when I came," he said. "I've had it memorized a few months, now – the druids are quite insistent on memory work. In any case, you know the basic exercises for calm and control – if you ever decide you want to start learning more…" He shrugged and nodded to the book. "I'm sorry I can't be a proper teacher."

"No, this is…" She trailed off, nodding, glancing between him and the page. "Thank you, Merlin. Maybe one day my father will realize that his prejudices against magic are unfounded."

He felt his ears warming. "You'd be the best one to show him that," he said. She gave him a smile that was swift, but warm and genuine. "You're not alone," he added. "If you ever have questions…" She nodded and he turned to leave, then paused, and just before she shut her door, added, "Sleep well, my lady."

**A/N: LONG. But necessary, and interesting, and fun – I hope? **

**I suppose you noticed Mordred wasn't included in my version of this ep. That wasn't intentional, it just came out that way; I had rather enough material to go on without adding that side story line… we'll get back to that later, I promise.**


	16. Capturing Royalty

**2.4 A Kidnapping Attempt**

Arthur sighed as he pushed open the double doors into the council chamber. After Morgana had not appeared for their customary family dinner – not a highly unusual occurrence - he'd been charged with finding her and bringing her to their father for a scolding. Not that the king had used those words, of course, but since last month when she'd been gone for two days and recovered injured in the forest – her own fault for running away, and it might have cost her life if Merlin had not been there – Uther had been rather more sensitive to her whereabouts and safety.

Ever since learning about that his half-sister had more in common with _her_ half-sister than either of them had realized before, Arthur had tried to be understanding and supportive with Morgana's moods and occasional inexplicable unavailability. He himself had been more concerned that the two guards accompanying her on her ride that afternoon had not returned their mounts or reported to their captain. Morgana making herself scarce was one thing, but if all three of them were missing, something had happened, something more than accident.

Uther turned from the pair of council members he'd been speaking to as if he'd been waiting for Arthur's return, because he probably had been. His expression of stern expectation hollowed, just slightly, to see Arthur alone. Well, except for Merlin behind him - and at least then Arthur knew that Morgana hadn't sneaked away to join the druids, again.

"Morgana hasn't returned to Camelot," Arthur said. "There's no sign of her anywhere. She headed out on the road –" which made it impossible to track even a trio of horses, among all those who traveled that way every day – "and it's too dark now to follow the road, or to find where she might have left it to ride the countryside or wood."

Uther assumed the worst and prepared for it. "Send riders to outlying villages. I want every guard, every sentry looking for her." He hesitated, then addressed Merlin directly; Arthur was not the only one shocked. "What about you?"

"Sire." Merlin gave a polite little half-bow, and kept his eyes deferentially on the floor. "I can provide sufficient light to a search party as long as necessary, but I am afraid that Prince Arthur's tracking abilities are far more likely to succeed than anything I can do."

Uther grunted. "Arthur?"

"I'll dispatch riders immediately in every direction," Arthur said. "Merlin and I and half a dozen knights will follow the main road. If we've found nothing by morning, we'll turn back and conduct a more thorough search of the land near the road."

The king nodded unhappy acquiescence, and Arthur turned to carry out his plan. He was weary already, thinking of the sleepless night in store, but knew that wherever Morgana was, she was having a harder time of it than any.

…..*…..

Merlin rode with his eyes half-closed. The blue of the magelight glowed cool and steady above them, though the sky was lightening toward dawn. He rather thought neither he nor Arthur wanted to suggest releasing that magic; it would mean admitting the new day and partial failure, and turning back. Arthur and the knights were keenly alert to any sign of the princess' passing as they had been all night long, their way illuminated by the moon-and-starlight glow of his magic, but that was not Merlin's only contribution to the search.

He'd been aware of Morgana's presence in the forest twice before – when Morgana had followed them to face the bandits in Ealdor, and just last month when she'd followed him to the druid camp. Now they were following her, and Merlin set his magic to questing for a hint of that familiar magical presence.

He was startled by a shout from Leon, riding several yards ahead of the group in the forward position, and released the magelight as Arthur kicked his mount into a short gallop to reach the scout. Merlin followed, tumbling down from his mount when he saw what Leon had found.

There were two bodies in the road, motionless under the red cloaks of the knights of Camelot. Arthur bent over the closer man; Leon straightened from the further. Merlin joined Arthur in a rush, feeling for a pulse, but the chill of the skin told him everything.

"They're both dead," Leon stated, as the other mounted knights fanned out around them, keeping watch for the prince's safety and searching for other evidence of what had happened. "Arthur." They looked up to see Leon remove a scrap of parchment from the arrow in the second corpse's back.

Arthur wasn't as interested in the paper left by the murderers as he was in studying the road and the ground surrounding. "What does it say?" Leon hesitated as if he didn't feel it was his place to read a message left in such a way.

Merlin stepped over to him, taking the paper. "It's a ransom note," he told Arthur. "They've taken Morgana hostage – they want to meet in the Vale of Dinaria in two days' time."

Arthur met his eyes, and he could read what the prince was thinking. Return to Camelot with the note, and help his father organize payment of the ransom? Or - "The tracks lead off this way," Arthur decided firmly. "We'll follow them."

…..*…..

Two of their guard had been dispatched to Camelot with the bodies of their fallen comrades and the report of the message and Arthur's decision. The rest of them moved at a good pace through the forest. The kidnappers had made no attempt to disguise their trail, relying on speed to make their escape. Arthur had to control the desire to go galloping after the obvious signs, holding back the pace in case there was sign that Morgana had been separated from the main group, for any hint that a rear watcher had discovered them and reported back to the main body to prepare an ambush.

"Arthur," Merlin said from just beyond Arthur's range of vision on his right. He turned, and saw the sorcerer's attention fixed further into the forest in that direction. Arthur held up one hand as a signal for the rest to halt, and leaned forward in his saddle, listening intently.

A twig snapped, underbrush rustled.

They weren't being silent, themselves; any wildlife large enough to make that kind of noise would also be wary enough to be long gone before they got this close. Arthur dismounted, Merlin right at his heels, listening to the sound of something – someone – trying to be quiet, and quick, who clearly hadn't had the training of a knight or druid.

"Morgana," Merlin said in a low, confident voice, a second before Arthur's sister stepped out.

It was another second before Arthur really focused on her, searching the forest behind her for a hint that she was followed, that she was being used to bait another ambush – no, she was alone. She was – she was _undressed_.

Her shift was a dirty white, her hair unbound and disheveled, her arms bare and scratched. There was blood on her face, too, temple and chin and cheek – but there was also a triumphant smile, and she carried a sword resting on the flat of the blade on her shoulder.

"Morgana!" Arthur said, relieved and confused. "What happened?" Beside him, Leon swirled his cloak off his shoulders and held it for Arthur to take. He did so, and Morgana let the hand that was holding her sword drop so he could tuck the garment around her, for warmth and propriety's sake.

"They killed my guards, didn't they," she said, her smile fading, then.

"Yes, but – you escaped?" he said, incredulous. Morgana was skilled with a sword, but no stronger than any one man, and surely they wouldn't let her near a weapon, and – undressed?

She probably saw the question on his face, and gave him a sour smirk. "I _distracted_ them," she said. "And yes, I escaped. Thanks to you and Merlin."

"What?" He glanced over his shoulder to see his friend busy with something that had his back to them.

She handed him the sword through the opening of Leon's borrowed cloak. "Sparring with you. Killed a couple of them that way. And thanks to Merlin's lessons – there are some handy tricks in that magic book he gave me."

Arthur let his breath out in a huff of eased tension and allowed amusement, and gathered his little sister close in a one-armed embrace.

…..*…..

**A/N: I was going to skip this ep, but then I thought, why not further the Morgana thread? So you're welcome, Morgana fans! ;)**

**About Gwen. I had already decided not to bring her in as Morgana's maid (obviously) because that whole scenario has already been done (obviously). Gwen and Arthur will meet (not in **_**The More Things Change**_**) but in the actual part 2 of my 'original' story, working title **_**The Lionys Tower**_**, which I'll start writing at the end of these season 2 rewrites… Just so you don't have to wonder about Gwen showing up… and if other main-ish characters are clearly left out, it probably means the same thing…**

**Also, because Beauty and the Beast is 2 eps, I started it here and will continue in the next chapter.**

…..*…..

**Lady Catrina**

"Lady Catrina," were the king's first words, as the visiting noblewoman – refugee, maybe – entered the throne room, her servant behind her.

Arthur looked up with a bit more interest than the situation deserved; war in the kingdoms surrounding Camelot and beyond was hardly news, and Catrina not the first dispossessed noble to cross their land in search of a new life elsewhere. But there was something in his father's voice that he could not remember hearing there, before.

Uther handed Arthur the seal that had been given him by a herald, to prove and to announce the woman waiting for an audience. It was a bulky thing, of black stone, a smooth grip and a wide carved base, but Arthur paid it little attention, listening to his father say, "Is it really you?"

The woman flowed forward, her white dress simple, covered with a plain brown cloak, her hair a warm reddish-brown without a hint of gray, her face just beginning to be lined with care and worry. A handsome woman for her age, and she only had eyes for the king. "I can hardly believe it myself."

As his father began to question Lady Catrina about the circumstances that precipitated her departure from her kingdom, Arthur noticed something curious, something he might have overlooked if the lady had stopped at any other point between the door and the king. As it was, Arthur could see, just over her shoulder, his young sorcerer friend standing courteously silent beside the court physician he was apprenticed to.

And Merlin could not keep his eyes off Lady Catrina.

Arthur had to admit her an attractive woman – but she was probably older than Hunith, for all her remaining beauty. And the look on Merlin's face was not adulation, but concentration.

"I would never have survived had it not been for my faithful servant, Jonas," Catrina claimed, her voice overflowing with emotion. She gestured to give credit to the strange hunched man who flinched at the attention and eyed the shadows as if he yearned to join them. "But we did survive – and we have made it this far –" Arthur saw her sway and leaped forward, but his father was next to the lady, and had only to put out his arms to catch and support her. "Forgive me, my lord, I fear my trials have taken their toll," she apologized faintly.

And, Arthur noticed, his father did not release her as he offered to help, and declared the two travelers their esteemed guests, invited to join them for dinner.

A dinner at which Arthur continued to notice details. Morgana had been displaced; moved from Uther's left hand down a seat at the table to give that position of honor to the visitor. His half-sister didn't seem to mind the adjustment to the seating arrangement, nor did she seem to mind their father's attention being almost entirely captivated by Lady Catrina. She smirked at Arthur quite openly, to his disgust.

He was uncomfortable with his father's mood and his sister's amusement. He thought of Vivienne, Morgana's mother, who'd seduced Uther when Arthur had been little more than an infant, the affair continuing long enough to produce a daughter, but not a wedding. He thought also – a rapid and embarrassing memory – of the Lady Sophia.

And when he excused himself early from the table due to training fatigue, he noticed also that the lady had not eaten a bite.

…..*…..

Merlin leaned on the bookshelf, watching Gaius work. He'd been adding and mixing and swirling the vial over the flame for some time, but Merlin had not been paying enough attention to the ingredients to follow what the intent of the concoction might be. He was trying to match the residue of magic he'd sensed with anything that seemed familiar, from his time with the druids, with the dragons, with the books and potions in Gaius' chambers.

"She's very brave," he commented absently. Maybe it would come to him in time. Gaius didn't answer. "It sounds terrible, what she's been through…" Maybe that was it, maybe magic had been done to save her during or after the attack, and some effect lingered? Perhaps that was why she owed her life to Jonas – some hint of strangeness clung to the servant, also, to Merlin's magic sense. It didn't have to mean impending danger to Camelot or the Pendragons, he told himself.

"Terrible indeed," Gaius allowed shortly. "Merlin, I have a job for you." He left the bookshelf willingly, and the puzzle of the visitors. "Give this to the Lady Catrina, with my compliments." He handed the little glass vial with its pinkish liquid to Merlin.

"What is it?" he said curiously.

"She'll know what it is," Gaius said, turning away to clean up after himself.

Merlin cocked his head. "You know her, then? You've met her before?"

"It was many years ago," Gaius said, his back still to Merlin. "I doubt if she would remember."

Merlin hummed thoughtfully, but left their chambers without pressing the issue. He knew when Gaius decided to keep his mouth closed, closed it would stay. He wondered if the lady herself would remember Gaius.

It was one of the strangest patient visits Merlin had ever made, in his admittedly limited experience. He knocked politely, of course, and heard a muffled voice. Assuming it for the _come-in_ response he expected, he pushed through, to see the lovely lady bent over the table, the salver before her overflowing with putrescence, her mouth smeared in a foul black. She recovered quickly, complaining of the rottenness of the fruit, wiping her mouth… but had been taken by surprise by his declaration of the physician's offering.

The servant Jonas had nearly tackled him as he stepped to hand the vial to Catrina, taking it from him forcibly, demanding to know what was in it as though he suspected Merlin of personally trying to poison his mistress.

When he reached his mentor's room, he closed the door and put his back to it, watching Gaius turn round at the noise, instantly and completely focused on him. "She didn't ask for it," Merlin said slowly. "She didn't need it, she didn't even want it."

One of Gaius' eyebrows rose fractionally, and Merlin saw the old man decide to let him in on his side of the secret. "When I treated her as a child, it was for an incurable disease. Catrina had a rare bone disorder afflicting her joints - she often had difficulty walking, especially after a long ride. My tonic was the only thing that brought her relief."

Merlin glanced at the little bottle in his hand, the unusual and probably immediately recognizable pink color, then approached the old man's table to set it down. "She walks as well as you or I," he stated.

"So I noticed."

Merlin couldn't help a half-smile. "So the tonic was some kind of test."

"Indeed," Gaius admitted. "And I'm starting to wonder if the Lady Catrina is really the Lady Catrina at all." He sent Merlin a piercing glance. "How close did you come to her?"

Merlin considered, then took one long step backward. "As close as this."

"And?"

He knew what the old man was asking. "I could sense magic," he said, "but I couldn't identify it… I wondered if Jonas used magic to save her. Maybe he knew of something that cured or relieved her condition?"

Gaius only grunted thoughtfully, and turned away.

In the morning, Merlin returned to the guest chamber; as he walked, he wondered if it would be considered rude of him to ask after the unfamiliar magic, after the medical condition of a stranger. Well, after all, he was the unofficial resident sorcerer as well as the physician's apprentice.

As he passed through one of the outer corridors that opened onto the central courtyard, he noticed that Uther and Catrina were mounting horses, surrounded by attendants and even a lavish basket secured to one of the pack animals. He almost laughed out loud at the thought of the dour king on a picnic with a lady – and then he remembered Gaius' description of her malady – difficulty walking, after a long ride. Not only did she walk without any evidence of pain at all, but she was willing to get right back into the saddle the next day.

He was still frowning as he arrived at the guest chamber door, and hesitated only briefly before knocking again. It would be better, he decided, to pose his question to a servant, someone closer to his own status level than a noblewoman. There was no reply, so – knowing that the lady wasn't present – he opened the door and stuck his head in.

"Hello?" he tried. There was no answer, so he entered. The stench of the rotten fruit tray had not been aired from the room – it had intensified. Merlin covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve as he glanced around for the offending dish – perhaps it had been mislaid by an inattentive Jonas? And yet the bed covers had been straightened immaculately.

"Can I help you?" a voice growled, and Jonas sidled around an inner corner as if Merlin's presence was a personal offense.

"I – was just wondering," Merlin said, suddenly unsure of his explanation of innocent healing magic. "If the Lady Catrina was feeling well this morning? I'm the physician's apprentice – and something of a magic-user as well – I thought I'd offer –" the glare he received from the other was unnerving. Why did he suddenly feel like Jonas thought he posed a _threat_? "To… help," he ended awkwardly.

"We don't need it," Jonas hissed. "Med'cine or magic."

"Right, well… if you change your mind," Merlin nodded, and crossed to the door. As he was closing it behind himself, Jonas turned away, and Merlin's attention was caught by the swish of something across the stone floor behind him. Something slender and green as a snake, with a hairy tuft at one end, and the other – disappeared under the hem of Jonas' long coat.

He retraced his steps entirely by memory, and found Gaius waiting for him back in their chambers, much as he had the night before. "What did you find?" Merlin took a deep breath. How he hated this moment, when a vague suspicion became a reality that he was responsible to deal with. He told his mentor everything, and when he was done, the old man said, "We must keep an eye on her. A very close eye."

…..*…..

Arthur wasn't sleeping well.

He would never admit it – how ridiculously backwards it was – the worry he'd felt for his father riding out with Lady Catrina. How he'd paced the corridors of the citadel that had a view of the courtyard, waiting for their return, clenching and unclenching his fists. Uther had no Merlin, who would know that something was wrong, and follow and fix. He had only Arthur, who had only doubts and uncertainties. And therefore wasn't sleeping well.

He opened his eyes to gaze blindly upward in the darkness at the canopy of his bed, and let his breath out in a soft sigh. He sensed the cool touch and scent of fresh air, and turned toward the window – which was open, and partially obscured by a shadow. The shadow whispered, and Arthur recognized him.

"Merlin?" he said confusedly, sitting up in his bed.

"It's me, Arthur," his friend said. He sounded calm, but preoccupied. Arthur couldn't help remembering Merlin's reaction to their noble visitor, and pushed himself up from the bed to pad across to join him at the window, the stone cool on his bare feet. Merlin shifted to allow him space at the window, and he glanced out – to see the glimmer of reflected light from a small mirror hovering in midair.

He wasn't awake, that was the only explanation. He said sleepily to Merlin in his dream, "I have no doubt that you have an excellent explanation for this…" The gust of wind that caught him in the face and chest between the loosened laces of his sleep-shirt woke him fully, and Merlin's embarrassed grimace convinced him. He remembered that the guest chamber was located just beneath his own, and groaned, turning away. "Please tell me you're not spying on Lady Catrina." _Please tell me there's no _reason_ for my sorcerer to be spying on a guest… _

"You've also asked me not to lie to you…" Merlin's voice followed him with a light hint of humor.

Arthur flopped down on his bed. "If you're caught, Merlin, I'll personally feed you to the dogs – am I clear?"

"Yes, absolutely." He heard Merlin's boots cross the stone, the rug, heard the quiet creak of the door.

And Arthur fell into a deep and restful sleep.

…..*…..

"Trolls are greedy," Gaius told Merlin. He sat on the steps that led to his room, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes as if that could erase the startling and disgusting images he'd seen that night. "And Lady Catrina is like the rest of her kind. She lusts after wealth and power."

"Uther's wealth and power." Merlin sighed. "How did a troll get her hands on that seal of Tregor?"

The sound of Gaius' sigh was clear and melancholy in the stillness of the late hour and the isolation of their chambers, and Merlin remembered that Gaius and Uther had both known Catrina Tregor as a child. "I fear we must consider the House of Tregor lost," the old man said. "It is not unusual for scavengers to pick through the rubble of an abandoned battlefield. What concerns me, is that this one should come to Camelot while you are here."

"Is that significant?"

The old man glanced sideways at him from his seat on the bench by the table. "It would seem to indicate that either her magic is powerful enough to make her confident that she can overcome yours, or that they have a plan for getting rid of you should you become suspicious."

Merlin snorted. _Lovely - the joys and dangers of having a reputation_. "Or maybe her greed and the discovery of the seal was just too powerful a combination to resist."

Gaius slapped his thighs and pushed himself up. "We have reached the point of no return; Uther has to be told."

Merlin bit his lip to keep from smiling – it wasn't funny, he told himself. It wasn't. "You're going to tell Uther that his new lady friend's a troll?" Arthur he could trust to believe him based on nothing better than his word, but Uther was a very different story.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do," Gaius declared. After a moment, he added, "Tomorrow."

Merlin turned to pull himself to his feet at the top of the short stair. "Good luck," he said, instead of _good-night_.

The next morning, Gaius was gone when he emerged from his bedroom. He sat down to a quick cold breakfast, and this time it was Gaius' turn to put his back against the inside of the door once it was shut behind him.

"It's no good, Merlin," the old man said. "I can tell him she's a troll til I'm blue in the face. He won't listen; he sees a charming beautiful woman."

Charming, beautiful. This time Merlin didn't bother pulling his smile. "With a body like a tree trunk."

Gaius gave him a censorious look. "We only know that because you saw her in her troll form."

"So what do we do?" Proof, it always came back to proof, for Uther Pendragon.

"Trolls have the ability to take any shape they please, and he's chosen one that pleases the king. We must open Uther's eyes," Gaius decided. "Show her for what she really is."

"Using magic," Merlin assumed.

"It's the only way to reveal her true form," the old man answered.

Merlin pictured that scenario, and shivered. "She never leaves his side, Gaius – I would have to do the magic in his presence, and without his permission."

"It's worse than that," Gaius said. "It is possible that he will react in disbelief, thinking you guilty of creating an illusion, rather than piercing one." Merlin groaned. "But we cannot allow her to gain any further control over the king," the old physician added. "Who knows what the consequences might be?"

"Just one problem," Merlin said, feeling as tired as if he'd never gone to his bed the night before. "I know nothing about troll magic."

Gaius nodded, his eyebrow lifting once again, as he gestured to their collection of books. "Then we have work to do."

Book after book, searching forgotten lore, tracking down stray details about the species they faced – revolting and irrelevant and unbelievable and useless. Hours passed, the afternoon sun finding its way in at the window. Dust motes drifted lazily, the only movement in the chamber, Merlin's desultory page-turning barely disturbing the particles. Across the table, Gaius had his head down on the latest book he'd been studying, snoring.

Merlin turned another page, forcing his eyes to focus. Then suddenly his attention sharpened. "Here!" he exclaimed, and Gaius snorted his way upright in surprise. "The spell of revelation, by which the true nature of a thing may be revealed." He turned the book around for Gaius to read the page he tapped.

"But this applies only to objects, things, not living creatures."

"I know, but the principle's the same, isn't it? I have to try it – what other choice do we have?"

"Very well." Merlin took the book back to commit the words of the spell to memory. Gaius added, "Merlin, I don't have to remind you to choose your moment carefully?"

"When the king's not looking at me," Merlin said, paying little attention.

"Trolls are vicious creatures," Gaius said, so seriously that Merlin raised his head to meet the old man's eyes. "Even if this works, if she knows it was you who caused her plan to fail, she will retaliate."

He gave his mentor his brightest grin. "I'll be careful," he promised.

…..*…..

Arthur stood next to Morgana in the throne room, arms crossed over his chest. He was relieved that his father was not planning to spend more time alone with the visiting noblewoman, but also a bit on edge as to what his father was planning to announce. The only thing he could figure was a military expedition to the north to bring the enemies of the House of Tregor to justice. But that didn't really require a formal announcement, just a handful of _get-ready_ orders to himself and the knights…

He glanced at Morgana and she shrugged; she was as much in the dark as he was. The attendant guards opened the double doors to admit the king, Lady Catrina on his arm, resplendent in a white satin dress. Arthur had a moment to wonder whether she'd had the time to pack such a thing before her harrowing escape, or whether it had been a gift from his father, before Morgana leaned to whisper in his ear.

"Don't you think it's odd how quickly they've become close?"

Catrina appeared much more focused on the attention of the court than on her powerful escort, and he finally defined what bothered him. There was no depth of emotion to the woman – her relief at finding herself in a place of safety shallow and fleeting, her show of affection and concern for Uther just that – a show. Arthur turned his face to murmur into the side of Morgana's hair, "There's nothing odd about it – father is a wealthy and powerful man." It shouldn't really have been a concern – Catrina was not the first by any means who thought to seduce Uther, the warlord or the king.

"Thank you all for coming," the king said, smiling in a way Arthur had never seen before. If it had been anyone but his father, he would have thought, _infatuation_. "You are no doubt wondering why I have gathered you here today. Though we live in dark times, today I bring you light – and love."

Arthur's attention narrowed, and his father's words seemed to come very slowly, and from far away. _Greatest pleasure… Houses of Tregor and Pendragon… closest bond of all_. He saw the king say, _I am to marry_… and all he could think of was, _We're in love – I'm going to marry her_. He heard applause, and looked at Morgana, who was pale with shock and something more, standing quite still.

He wanted to say to his half-sister, in a mocking joke, _We had no idea he was such a romantic, did we?_

And then Uther finished, in a triumphant boyish excitement, "Tomorrow!"

Morgana looked at him, her green eyes dark with something not unlike fury. He understood, without either of them having to say a single word. Her illegitimacy, a lifelong burden, was due to Uther Pendragon's disinclination to marry again after the death of Arthur's mother, Ygraine de Bois. And now, though of course there was no danger of Lady Catrina producing a rival for him or Morgana as the line of succession to their father's throne, he was willing to rush to vows after less than two days with the woman.

He looked away from his half-sister, seeking out the one person in the room who might have shared his suspicion and unease, and saw Merlin's brown-jacketed elbow disappear behind the thick column just beside Gaius. Arthur took one surreptitious step backward, as his father began rambling happily about a new dawn and a new beginning – _a new queen_. He heard Merlin's voice, low but intense, speaking the strange words of a spell.

Arthur's muscles tensed as they had when he'd sat in the royal box at the joust, as if his attention and will could affect the outcome of whatever conflict he could sense, but not join. He stared at the woman simpering at his father's side, suddenly hating the way her hand never left Uther's, silently encouraging the young sorcerer. There was the slightest pause for breath, and Arthur heard Merlin repeat the words.

Catrina frowned. The side of her smooth cheek rippled as if she were repeatedly clenching her jaw, and her eyes darted around the room. Whatever Merlin was doing, she could _feel_ it. Arthur sidestepped so that he might better block her sight of Merlin behind the column, hoping he wasn't getting in his friend's way to do it.

Then the king finished, "I hope you will all share in our joy – thank you." To the sound of more applause, Catrina drew him forward, hurrying to leave the room.

Uther allowed no one to lead him, to hurry him. Ever. Morgana tossed him a look of angry confusion, and spun to flounce away herself. Arthur turned, but Merlin was gone. He circled the pillar, and saw the familiar pair of the physician and his apprentice – one figure solidly robed and round-shouldered with the age that whitened his hair, the other straight and gawky with youth – retreating at a fast pace down a side corridor.

Arthur had a choice to make – and he chose to follow Merlin, quickening his own steps to catch up with the only two who might have answers.

"I'm sorry," he heard Merlin say faintly. "I tried. I gave it everything I had."

Gaius put his hand on the sleeve of the brown jacket. "You did your best." Reassuring, but yet still worried. Whatever the underlying problem, the solution had not worked as planned.

"The spell of revelation is powerful magic," Merlin said. Arthur realized that they were both too distracted to notice his approach. "She could feel it, I could see she could feel it."

"Her magic must be strong indeed to be able to resist you," Gaius said.

Arthur's heart fell. Not only were they dealing with a cunning, ambitious, greedy refugee noblewoman, but a sorceress as well. "Perhaps," he said aloud, startling both of them to turn and face him; he didn't slow his stride. "Perhaps we should discuss this further in private."

He was aware of the glance the two shared as he passed them, but they said nothing further until they reached the chambers that Gaius shared with Merlin. Arthur went halfway into the room, turned to put his back to the work-table, and leaned against it, folding his arms across his chest.

"Now," he said, "I assume this has something to do with your sneaking and spying in my room the other night?" Merlin had the grace to turn a little red and shrug shame-facedly at the old physician's raised eyebrow. "And the reason that my father has fallen so quickly for the lady?"

"She's not a lady, Arthur," Merlin said.

"Not Catrina at all?" Arthur absorbed the news calmly; it made things easier, honestly – and explained the revelation spell Merlin had been attempting. "A sorceress?"

"A troll?" Merlin suggested, watching him with a funny mix of expectation and hope.

The table creaked as more of Arthur's weight settled on it. He watched them, the old man and the young one, watch him. "You're serious," he managed.

"I tried to pierce the illusion she's holding, to show everyone her true self," Merlin said, coming to him with an earnest-apologetic expression. "But it didn't work – I think she's using an external source of power."

"External…" Arthur twirled his finger as an order for the young sorcerer to explain.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder at Gaius, angled his body to include his mentor in the conversation. "A crystal could do it, if you used the blood of the one you were impersonating," he said. "Or she could be taking a potion to maintain the illusion."

"We need to find out," Arthur said. "And you need to be careful," he added to his friend. "She knows you have magic, doesn't she? Then you're her only real threat, right? Sooner or later they're going to come after you directly."

…..*…..

Merlin headed for the guest chamber. It made sense to him that Catrina would keep a crystal or a supply of potion with her or near her. The guest room was her granted sanctuary within Camelot, the midden heap below the scullery her chosen refuge. Given his choice, he'd search the room first.

The sound of sobbing, muffled but heart-broken, arrested his steps as he passed a side corridor, and he paused. "Hello?" he said cautiously.

A shadow near the floor lurched out into the half-light of the deserted hall. Short greasy spikes of hair grew down upon the forehead, the face lined and craggy, the ears large and almost pointed. Jonas. Merlin took an involuntary step back.

"Master Merlin," Jonas said in a pitiful gravely voice. "I'm sorry."

Merlin was taken aback, both by the respectful title that no other here in Camelot had ever given him, and by the apology. "What's wrong with you?" he asked warily.

"I'm a slave, a prisoner." He fairly crawled toward Merlin, sneaking looks all around as if he feared discovery.

"What are you talking about?" Merlin said narrowly. He kept Arthur's warning in mind, but questioned whether this was ambush – or opportunity.

"My mistress, she is not as she seems." Jonas glanced about again, then gave him a cunning wink. "But you know as much."

Ambush. Or opportunity. "Go on, I'm listening," he said.

"She is a cruel, wicked creature – she keeps me in chains," Jonas insisted, pushing back the sleeves of his long shapeless coat to show a wide bloody weal around his wrist. "She hurts me. Her magic – I can't escape it. She twists my mind, as she is twisting the mind of your king."

Merlin studied him. He'd been told before that he was too compassionate for his own good – Arthur had implied on more than one occasion that being soft-hearted was very close to being soft-headed. But the behavior of whatever sort of creature Jonas was differed almost entirely from what he'd seen of the servant before. And it was possible that his attack on Catrina's illusion had weakened her magic enough for Jonas to temporarily break whatever hold she had on him. "Why are you telling me this?" he said.

"If I help you, you help me," Jonas said.

"How?"

"Below the castle, where she sleeps, she keeps her potions there. Every night she must take these potions. It is the magic that transforms her from beast to beauty. If you were to take these from her, she must remain as beast and then your king would not be so keen, I think."

Well. If he believed Jonas, it confirmed one of their guesses. And if it was a potion she took nightly, it did make more sense to keep it where she actually slept. And if they had come to Camelot knowing they must be wary of the sorcerer who resided there, perhaps the midden was a better hiding place than the guest chamber – he had intended to search it first. "Tell me, Jonas," Merlin said deliberately, "why should I believe any of this?"

Jonas dipped his head sideways in a subservient attitude. "You must do as you think fit, Master Merlin," he said. "But if my mistress is not stopped, by morning she will be Queen. If you succeed, however, that means my freedom as much as yours. I only wish the chance to escape. To disappear, somewhere far away from here."

Behind Merlin came the sounds of tramping feet, guards on regular rounds. Jonas bent to look past him, then slipped away, giving him a single enigmatic backward glance.

It was the middle of the day. Surely if Jonas had wished him harm, he'd have launched an attack from his hiding place as Merlin passed, unaware. And surely Catrina would not risk being seen in the lower levels of the palace anytime soon – the night he'd followed her after catching a glimpse of her true face in the mirror lowered from Arthur's window, she'd waited until well after midnight to leave the guest chamber. It might be riskier to try the guest chamber, after all.

He turned and headed for the nearest downward-leading stair.


	17. Lady Catrina

**2:5-6 Lady Catrina**

Arthur waited beyond the doors of the great hall, watching the crowd gather without interest enough to identify individuals - nobles and knights, the court and distinguished guests, and even servants at the back and sides and corners . He hadn't spoken to another person this morning – not to Morgana, not to Gaius, not to Merlin. He'd been waiting, he realized, ever since the younger man had left the physician's chambers with such a determined look on his face.

Never once in all his life had it occurred to him that he might one day be attending the wedding of his own father. Uther Pendragon was not the sort of man to fall in love, or that women fell in love with.

It wasn't about love – it hardly ever was, with noble marriages, he reminded himself. It was about power, twisting the feelings of someone else to advantage. It wouldn't be too many years, he considered, until he himself would be required to make this commitment, for the good of the kingdom. For stability and the line of succession. He rubbed his forehead, shuffling through vague memories of Sophia, hiding her annoyance and feelings of superiority behind a sweet but false mask.

"Arthur," he heard his father's voice, as the king arrived beside him, and without a pause stepped into the room.

He accompanied his parent, as had been prearranged. As they proceeded, he stared at the second throne that had been added to the dais – a position equal to the king of the land. He found himself blinking hard as he stopped at the head of the room, and his father moved to the first step, just below a waiting Geoffrey. It was one thing to anticipate danger and subterfuge aimed at himself, even aimed at Merlin or on occasion Morgana, but this – if they did not stop this, the news of Uther Pendragon's marriage would travel to other courts in other kingdoms. A whirlwind courtship and marriage was bad enough gossip at his father's age, but Catrina was not simply a dispossessed noblewoman after security and a bit of power after her own was lost.

He took a deep breath, as the fanfare of the horns blew sweetly out over the crowd. Uther and Geoffrey stepped out from the side of the dais, and Arthur turned away from the look on his father's face to watch, as everyone watched, the Lady Catrina, dressed more finely than she had been for the proclamation the day before, or for the private picnic with the king, the day before that, a fatuous smile of utter bliss on her own face.

Arthur found himself wondering what he might have seen, had Merlin's spell of revelation been successful.

He looked past her to Gaius, standing near the door, his face impassive but for the raised eyebrow, wearing his usual blue robe rather than something fancier for the king's wedding. He met Arthur's gaze and looked back over his shoulder expectantly.

Arthur's hope fell along with his heart. Merlin was not with his mentor. Whatever the cause… he could be no help if he was not present.

"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen of Camelot." He clenched his teeth and his fists as Geoffrey began the ceremony, keeping his eyes on his father's boots and the white satin hem of the lady's dress rather than their faces. He wondered briefly whether it would be a valid marriage, if the second party was not actually Lady Catrina of Tregor.

He did look up, when Geoffrey inquired about her wish to become one with the man who held her hand. She said, "It is," with a winsome yearning worthy of youthful golden Sophia.

Arthur wondered, for the first time, what the plan might have been, if Uther had agreed to his marriage with Sophia. She would have stood beside him, before Geoffrey, repeating these same words. And plotting his death. He glared at Catrina, plotting something similar? _Over_ my _dead body_.

"Do any say nay?" Geoffrey asked.

Arthur looked back at Gaius, who looked back at the doors – open and empty. He wanted with all his being to say something – but couldn't. Not here, in front of this crowd of their citizens, not when his father would demand proof that he could not give – _but Merlin said he saw_, was never going to be good enough. And might even prove dangerous for the younger man.

He bit his tongue until he tasted blood, listening to his father say, "I shall not seek to change thee in any way. I shall respect thee, as I respect myself."

Geoffrey declared, "I now pronounce you to be husband and wife." The happy couple turned on the bottom stair to receive the applause of their subjects. Arthur watched his father – looking softer and happier than Arthur had ever seen him – wave and enjoy the goodwill. Catrina, however, had frozen in place, her expression slipping, her eyes not wandering the crowd, but fixed.

He turned and saw Merlin.

The younger man was streaked with sweat-dampened dust, visible even at the distance Arthur was from the door. His expression reminded Arthur of the brief glimpse he'd had of the young sorcerer, stepping forward in a smoky courtyard with a glowing blue crystal clutched in his hand – grim and adult beyond his years.

He fancied he could hear what the troll might have said – _Too late_. He fancied he could hear what Merlin might have replied – _I'm still here_.

Arthur shivered at the inevitable response of the evil creature clinging to the king's hand. _Not for long_.

…..*…..

"I'm getting your coat dirty," Merlin said to the prince, for maybe the fourth time since they'd staggered from the great hall. It was his best one, of dark blue quilted velvet.

Arthur responded this time as he had the others. "Shut up, Merlin." His grasp of Merlin's wrist kept his arm around Arthur's shoulders, so he couldn't leave his friend's side if he'd wanted to. If he'd had the strength.

"You could've had Leon –" he added, and Arthur cut him off with a growl.

"So the potion wasn't under the citadel," Gaius said, behind them.

Merlin made a negative sound, and an effort to use his own feet to more effect. "Honestly, Arthur, it isn't like I'm going to fall. I can walk on my own."

"It's faster this way than waiting for you every step," Arthur returned. "Do I have to send the master builder down there to examine the damage you've done?"

"_I've_ done," Merlin protested, as they finally reached the stair to Gaius' chambers. "It was the troll that collapsed the doorway, I only cleared the rubble."

"After twenty hours of being trapped."

Merlin tried to shrug; it didn't succeed very well with his body half-wrapped around Arthur's. "Troll magic is strong," he explained, "and she'd laid enchantments on the outside to keep the fallen stone in place."

Arthur grunted, kicking open Gaius' door. "She didn't expect to see you again – ever," he stated, maneuvering Merlin to a sitting position on the bench by the work-table. "She was surprised."

"And angry," Gaius added, closing the door behind them.

Arthur retreated, his hands on his hips and his blue eyes unreadable. "I'll get that potion," the prince declared with implacable determination. "In her room, then, right?"

"No!" Merlin protested, as Gaius laid a hand on the sleeve of Arthur's grime-streaked jacket.

"Telling Merlin of the existence of the potion was a risk they took to get rid of him permanently," the old physician told the young prince. "They will guard it carefully, and maybe even with enchantments. Arthur, you must act as normally as possible, do not draw their attention to yourself."

Arthur took a deep breath and let it out, still dissatisfied. "Very well," he conceded. "But I want you –" he pointed a finger at Merlin's chest – "to sleep, before you try anything else, is that clear?"

Merlin wished he had the energy to do more than slouch over the bench and table, wished he could stand firm on his feet and face his prince to say what he needed to. "Arthur – I'm sorry I failed you."

Arthur gave him a reproachful look, but Merlin got the distinct impression it was not over the mistake that cost the king's marriage. Before he could figure it out, the prince had turned to stride from the room, tossing over his shoulder, "Oh, and take a hot bath – you're filthy."

As the door closed behind him, Gaius turned on Merlin with a stern look. "You best do as he says and get some rest. I'm afraid the royal marriage is only the first step in Catrina's avaricious plan."

Merlin dragged himself up from the bench, managed to wash and change his clothes before falling onto his bed, eyes closed before he even hit the pillow.

He slept deep and dreamless, and woke disoriented, his mind telling him it had been scant hours and he needed to be up and about his duties, his body telling him to roll over and go back to sleep. But he could hear Leon's voice in the main chamber, and the knight sounded more earnestly insistent than normal. Merlin stepped into his boots and pulled his door open – both pairs of eyes turned to him instantly.

"You need to get out of here," Leon said without preamble. "Arthur's been ordered to have you arrested."

Merlin groaned. "What?"

"Catrina's accused you of taking her seal," Leon said.

"But I didn't –"

The knight cut him off. "Arthur knows that, but you haven't got time to explain. If you value your life, you'll leave Camelot right now. If you're caught, the sentence will be official. And irrevocable."

Merlin huffed at a stern Gaius, already reaching for his jacket. "She's setting me up," he complained.

"Of course she is," the old man said, crossing the chamber to hand the jacket to him. "And it's up to you to make sure that this attempt to get you out of the way does not succeed."

"I don't want to know," Leon said, backing to the door. "You have minutes only, Merlin."

Merlin sighed, stretching sore muscles into his jacket. "I have an idea," he said, turning to leap up the stairs into his room, returning with his oldest neckerchief, and giving his mentor a grin as he headed for the door. "I'll see you soon."

…..*…..

Arthur stood before his father, hands clasped behind his back, determined to maintain his composure. For whatever reason, the troll's illusion of the Lady Catrina had proven most effective on Uther Pendragon; he didn't want to give her any reason to turn on him until they had found a solution to her presence and plot.

"I fear he may have slipped through our net," he reported calmly. "My men have reported finding a scrap of clothing distinctive to the fugitive and an abandoned campsite. My guess is that he's headed for the Northern Marches."

It was his private opinion that the druid boy would have to be out of his head to leave such obvious trace behind, but he didn't know whether to assume that meant Merlin had returned secretly to Camelot, or whether he was actually on his way north, perhaps to find proof that Lady Catrina Tregor had perished along with her family. The neckerchief and firepit might have been left as a warning to the troll that the deception could be proved wrong; in any case, it was safer for Merlin for the troll and her servant to assume that he was no longer in the city at all.

"You're very quick to give up the chase," Catrina complained.

"That is because I know my quarry is long gone," Arthur said calmly.

Uther glanced at his new wife before mirroring her attitude of discontented concern. "How can you be so certain?"

Arthur paused, studying his father. Uther knew very well that Merlin's magic would make him nigh-impossible to catch; he knew also that Arthur's friendship with the young man would make him reluctant to make the capture. "Despite appearances," he said carefully, forcing a tone of ironic levity, "Merlin isn't stupid. He must have got wind that we were looking for him and left."

"Outwitting your army in the process," Catrina said snidely. Already the posturing of the damsel in distress, the plaintively grateful lady, was gone – though Uther seemed just as accepting of the sharply outspoken critic.

"It appears so," Arthur said neutrally. He kept his temper as Catrina continued to criticize, and Uther agreed.

"I've heard enough of your excuses," his father snapped. "We both have." He took the hand of the woman at his side, and she gave him a smile of oily condescension. "I want the boy found."

Arthur directed his respectful nod to his father alone. "Sire," he said, and after a moment of conquering his emotion, he added, "My lady."

The second day, when Arthur was summoned before his father – and his father's wife – again, he was sure that they were going to complain about his failure to find Merlin. But Uther unexpectedly raised the question of taxes. Arthur followed the conversation with a feeling of unreality, trying to disagree with gentle respectfulness, trying to understand how his father's mind and policy could have changed so quickly, even by a woman – a creature – he was so clearly infatuated with. Because of course it was her doing. Unable to lay hands on the sorcerer – and no idea what he was up to in the meantime – the troll had plowed ahead with her plan of gathering Camelot's wealth. As much as possible, in as short a time as possible.

"Those who refuse to pay will be arrested and publicly flogged," Uther declared, glancing at Catrina for approbation, and she smiled and nodded in complete agreement.

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, his eyes on the hands they held clasped together between them, and thought better of it. He led the knights, commanded the army. He was the point of liaison between the king and his warriors, his subjects, still… and he had a small locked chest hidden in his room filled with the thousand gold pieces from the winner's prize of the previous spring, when Merlin had been new to Camelot, and saved him from a cheater and an enchanted shield. There had been little occasion for him to use it, after all. Until now.

…..*…..

"Here it is," Merlin declared, careful to bar the physician's door behind him. He wasn't half bad at avoiding guards who didn't expect to see him in the citadel any longer, but it wouldn't do for someone to enter Gaius' chamber unexpectedly to find him there. He held out the tiny glass bottle, watched the viscous liquid inside, the gray-green of a swamp toad, tip slightly to level. "Could you make a potion that looks and tastes the same as this?"

Gaius came to take the bottle from him, watch the liquid move slowly, examine it's consistency against the sunlight at the window. "I don't know. Yes, I suppose so." He moved to the work-table, faced Merlin from the far side of it. "But without the troll magic, it wouldn't have the same effect."

Merlin slid onto the bench. "Exactly," he said. "If I simply stole it, they would know they'd been discovered. And who's to say they haven't got more of it somewhere else? If I can replace this potion with one that isn't magical…" He raised his eyebrows at his mentor.

"Catrina will keep taking it, but it will no longer work," Gaius mused, shaking the little bottle, then pulling out the stopper with a funny little squeak.

"And she'll turn back into a troll with no way to replace the illusion," Merlin finished. "Everyone will see. Think you can do it? We'll have to make the switch before morning, or Jonas will notice."

Gaius' eyebrow quirked. "Then it's going to be a long night."

…..*…..

Arthur wondered what – or who – had given him away. He paced the floor in his chamber, wishing he dared go to the training field for an hour or two. But he didn't want to leave the citadel for that long… and he didn't want to take a weapon in his hand. Not with the way he felt now – it might end ugly, and with plenty of regret.

The king had been livid to find that Arthur was "paying" the citizens' tax himself. His funds were forthwith confiscated, and he was ordered to go into the town as initially indicated, to every house for the payments demanded by the king and queen of Camelot.

He could no longer protect his father from the troll, but he'd be damned if he'd give up protecting the people. Unfortunately, his refusal had resulted in banishment from his father's presence. He paced, thinking that at least Leon would take his place, Leon who saw pretty nearly everything and guessed the rest with uncanny accuracy. Hope for Camelot was not lost yet. But he was afraid they didn't have much time left to contain the problem.

A soft knock at his door heralded that knight's entrance, and Leon's face was grave. "The king has sent for you."

Arthur followed the red-caped knight to the council chamber, where he was surprised to find quite a crowd assembled, and all in formal dress but himself. He was left to stand alone in the middle of the floor, and his father barely spared him a glance over his shoulder. "Father?" he prompted.

"I'm relaxing your duties," Uther told him off-handedly. "Revoking your title."

Arthur wasn't immediately sure he'd heard correctly. "_What_?" Revoke – was such a thing even possible? Legal?

"Due to your insubordination and deceit, you are to be disinherited with immediate effect. You are no longer crown prince of Camelot." His father finally turned, and seated himself with a flourish – reaching for the hand of the woman seated next to him without even seeming to realize it.

He heard Gaius' voice, as if from far away, protesting, "Sire, Arthur is your son, your natural heir…"

Arthur thought again of Sophia, of the few answers he'd managed to pry from Merlin as they trudged back to Camelot, dry and wrinkled – and rusty, in his case. If a deep feeling or strong emotion could be evoked. He stepped closer, to give them the impression of privacy in a crowded room. "You've always taught me to be true to my heart, and that's all I've ever tried to do." He wouldn't relinquish the connection of their gaze, inwardly pleading with his father to hear him. "To be the man you wanted me to be." He recalled Uther's words to him after he'd locked Arthur in his room to face the black knight in single combat himself. "Someone you were proud to call your son," he ended in a whisper.

Uther didn't blink. His face was expressionless. "My decision is final."

…..*…..

Merlin skidded into Gaius' room, relieved at having navigated the citadel once again without being seen. "We've done it!" he announced jubilantly. "Catrina's drank the fake potion." He took in his mentor's attitude, slumped in his chair with his hands uncharacteristically motionless in his lap; the old man hadn't even looked up at his entrance. "What's wrong?" Merlin said instantly. "What's happened?"

Gaius didn't move. "Uther has disinherited Arthur and made Catrina his heir."

Merlin's heart throbbed, imagining the pain his friend felt. It was another thing the troll could be blamed for – his running and hiding meant he couldn't be with Arthur to offer encouragement and support. "So if Uther dies, she will rule Camelot?" he said incredulously. Would the creature really go that far?

"For a time." Gaius met his eyes, then. "Until she has plundered the kingdom completely, and then she will surely – sooner or later – return to her hidden cave."

"But surely –" Merlin protested – "surely once she's shown to be a troll…"

"We can only hope," Gaius said.

…..*…..

It was adding insult to insult, Arthur felt, to require his presence at the ceremony which would give his title of heir to the throne as well as the responsibilities to Catrina. He kept his eyes on the floor as Geoffrey began with the words that he recalled with such pride, "Do you solemnly swear to govern the people of Camelot, to uphold the laws and customs of the land."

Catrina said, "I – do." She seemed more interested in scratching an itch on her forearm than in the gravity of Geoffrey's words.

"Will you," the official continued, "to your power, cause law and justice in mercy to be executed in all your judgments?"

Arthur almost snorted in derision at that. A troll knew nothing of those things, only of greed and selfishness; she would take and take until there was nothing left but a dried husk of kingdom. And he himself had failed to reach his father – any word of objection he spoke now would be laid to jealousy and ignored.

He missed the next line of the recitation of the oath, distracted by the lady's incessant scratching. He watched Catrina scowl, and move her sleeve to examine her arm; beyond her, the servant Jonas took one step from the crowd toward the center of the room, a worried look on his lined face. Arthur glanced down the room to where Gaius stood alone; the old man was actually _smiling_.

Perhaps there was hope, somehow, after all. He found himself wondering where Merlin was, and what he had been doing the last two days.

"I'm sorry," Geoffrey was saying courteously to Catrina, "you must let me finish." For once, Arthur was glad for the old man's pedantic conformation to the rules of his office. If she was in a hurry, he was all for delays. "The wording must be exactly right to be binding."

"Well, get on with it, then." Her voice was shrill with exasperation as she turned to the king seated on his throne behind her. "I mean, really, where did you dig up this old crone from?"

All attention was on the king. He gave the woman a fond look and told Geoffrey gently, "She's right, get on with it." Arthur met Morgana's eyes – wide, and with eyebrows raised in shock. Whatever irritability she'd indulged over the slight to her mother and herself was erased in the knowledge that something was drastically wrong with their father.

Geoffrey rolled his eyes and continued, "Will you, to the utmost of your powers… maintain the laws and customs… of the land and serve the people of Camelot?"

Catrina interrupted him at every phrase, with increasingly strident and impatient repetitions, and finally shrieked out, "Just shut up and give me the crown!" As everyone else froze in uncertain shock, and the king nodded and smiled inanely, Geoffrey reached for the coronet on the velvet pillow. "Will you just hurry up!" Catrina snatched it, cramming it over the elaborate hair-style she wore and hurrying for the doors of the great hall.

Uther called after her with a look of loving indulgence, and followed. Morgana gave Arthur a confused grimace, and they followed as quickly as they could. Was it Arthur's imagination that he could hear Merlin's satisfied chuckle echo through the startled noise of the crowd? He hoped that propriety would keep all the people in place – if what was happening was what he thought it was, the fewer witnesses the better.

Catrina had reached another set of doors, and was struggling to open them. Morgana called out, "Are you all right?"

The woman whirled around, expression frantic, hiding the arm she'd been scratching behind her back. "Yes, yes, I'm fine," she babbled. "Really, thank you, I just –" she turned back to yank ineffectively at the doors. "Come on, come on, open!"

"What's that?" Arthur demanded. One of her hands was twice as large as the other, scaly and warty as an old toad, the fingers tipped with twisted yellow talons.

"What's happening?" Morgana asked, taking a step back, closer to him.

Catrina's smooth ivory face was disappearing into contortions, discoloration blooming like bruises, her teeth lengthening, her jaw jutting as she moaned a garbled protestation. The fine material of her cream-colored dress strained, seams splitting as the body beneath swelled along with the face and hands.

Arthur said, in bemused disgust, "You're a troll!"

Uther rounded on him with a dark scowl. "How dare you speak about her like that?"

"What is wrong with you?" Arthur said, although he suspected he already knew the answer. "Look at the state of her!"

"I don't believe it," Morgana said faintly.

The troll snarled at the three of them, turned, and ripped the heavy wooden door right off its hinges, tossing it to the floor and disappearing into the corridor beyond. Arthur pointed, still in disbelief that any enchantment could disguise such an event. "Doesn't that tell you something? She's a troll! A giant, gray –"

"Stinking!" Morgana added.

"Stinking troll!"

"Stop it!" their father snapped, bending to pick up the crown where it had fallen from the creature's head, along with a pair of dainty silver shoes that would no longer fit the hideously stumpy feet. "Haven't you hurt her feelings enough?" He pointed at both of them in thunderous fury. "Insult my wife again, it'll be the last thing you ever do!"

…..*…..

Merlin was resting in the balcony library overlooking Gaius' chamber. Since he'd fixed and reinforced the railing that had broken his first day in Camelot, it was possible for him to remain hidden to any unexpected visitors, as long as he didn't move or make noise. Since the guards still had orders to arrest him on sight, and since the doors could not be locked from the inside when the physician was elsewhere, he was hiding.

It was a tight fit, from the planks of the railing on his right and the wall on his left, the lowest bookshelf at the level of his jaw. He smiled to himself – if he were as broad as the prince, he might have found it impossible to extract himself. It was a good thing he was skinny, still.

He breathed deeply, preparing himself reluctantly for the telepathic conversation that Gaius had advised. He'd have to apologize, maybe, explain what he'd done with Morgana last month and why… Ah, well. For the love of Camelot.

_Kilgarrah_? He felt the query connect with the ancient dragon. _I need your help – Uther has married a troll under the illusion of a noblewoman_. He listened to the great creature's rolling rumble of seemingly unending laughter, thinking ruefully that Arthur was right – he did need to work on his presentation of an incredulous truth. _This isn't funny_, he grumbled to Kilgarrah. Already he was feeling a cramp in his back.

_Oh, it is. It is. The thought of Uther marrying a troll – was it a public affair?_

Merlin thought back to his hurried impression of the crowd as he'd burst into the event, exhausted from breaking through the troll's trap of stone and enchantment, of facing Jonas intent on keeping him out just long enough. _Don't laugh,_ he begged. _The illusion is broken, but the king is enchanted. If we can't break it, Arthur will be forced to have the council declare his father incompetent to rule. And that's not something that can be reversed when we do break the enchantment, it will be permanent and we'll either have to let the troll kill Uther, or let him believe we've killed his beloved wife or if we're lucky and he regains his wits, he may believe Arthur's betrayed him and its not inconceivable that he'd try to oppose his son's legal rule at that point and –_

_Peace, young warlock_. He heard sympathy in Kilgarrah's mind-voice, and didn't feel as silly for his outburst. _You are right, of course. _

_ How can we break the enchantment?_

_ These are not trifling tricks. Troll magic is very powerful – to break the enchantment Uther must cry tears of true remorse._

Merlin slumped against the wall beneath the lowest shelf of books. _How do we make him do that?_ he questioned tiredly. He'd never seen the king shed a single tear, even the few times Arthur or Morgana had been in danger. _I don't think he's ever been sorry for anything._

Below him, the door opened, and then closed, and he heard his mentor's shuffling footsteps cross the room. "Well, Merlin?" Gaius called up to him.

Merlin didn't bother trying to get up. "The dragon said he had to cry tears of true remorse to break the enchantment."

A moment passed before Gaius concluded, "Well, that's not going to be easy. And we don't have much time, either – Sir Leon just told me that Bayard of Mercia is on his way here as we speak."

Merlin groaned. Of course – as the fact of Uther's marriage became more widely known, these sort of congratulatory visits would increase. _Ye gods, why Bayard?_ he wondered dismally.

Gaius added, "I see only one course of action to take. Uther must be made to regret his treatment of his son and heir – he must see Arthur die."

Merlin was not sure he liked the sound of that.

…..*…..

Arthur didn't bother undressing, just shed his jacket and boots, and loosened the laces at the neck of his shirt, before collapsing on his bed. If his father was indeed enchanted, he risked his life to try to talk the king out of it. The only other course he could see open to him was to manage to kill the troll, and hope that broke the spell on Uther. And if that went wrong –

Gaius and Leon had both advised him that he had little time to organize the council and dethrone his father for his mental state, before word spread beyond Camelot's borders. He remembered the chaos before his father had conquered the land and crowned himself king – the threat of Odin and Olaf on the west, the threat of Cenred to the northeast, the uncertainty of Caerleon in the southeast – even with the two dragons and Merlin, Arthur doubted he could hold the peace of Camelot secure.

Could he bring himself to betray his father like that, even for the good of the kingdom?

"Arthur." His eyes snapped open, focused on the single candle struggling to illuminate the darkness of his bedchamber. Was his sanity slipping, that he heard his friend's voice in the solitary stillness? "Arthur!"

It wasn't his imagination – he jumped up from the bed, putting several feet between it and him, his fingers itching for the security of the hilt of his sword. "Who's there?" he demanded.

One of his large decorative pillows slid into view from beneath his bed, cushioning a black-haired head, a face that gave him a brilliant mischievous grin. "It's me, Arthur," he said, just as he had the last time Arthur caught him sneaking in his bedchamber in the dark.

"You're back," Arthur said, suppressing the wave of relief that swept through him. He returned to sit on the edge of the bed and look down at his friend, on his back on the floor, still only half-visible beneath the edges of the coverlet.

"I never left," Merlin sighed, his smile still wide.

"Where've you been?" Arthur demanded, reaching to lock his fingers around Merlin's, drag him to freedom and his feet.

"Hiding," Merlin said unapologetically.

"Not under my bed this whole time?" Arthur teased from sheer relief.

"No. There was a barrel of grain Gaius hid me in the first day, and then I was up the balcony for a few hours – and in the wardrobe in Catrina's room for a _long_ time – actually, this was the best hiding place of all." Merlin bent to pick up the pillow, squeeze it in his hands. His blue eyes glinted at Arthur. "It's quite roomy under there."

Arthur found himself grinning back. Just being in the same room as his friend – powerful magic notwithstanding – made him feel more confident and hopeful. "So my father's enchanted," he said. "Do you and Gaius have any ideas what to do?"

"We think we know a way to break the spell," Merlin said, replacing the pillow on the bed and straightening the sheets and cover. "But we need your help. Gaius has made a potion that gives the appearance of death, without the actual dying bit – we have to make your father cry."

Deep feeling or strong emotion – _my_ _decision is final… the last thing you ever do._.. "I'm not sure he cares that much for me anymore," Arthur heard himself saying.

Merlin rested on the side of the bed next to him. "There can be nothing Uther treasures more than his children," he said. "It's you or Morgana." Arthur eyed him, then nodded. "It's perfectly safe," the younger man said reassuringly. "A single drop of the antidote will reverse the effects immediately."

"Antidote," Arthur repeated, and Merlin grimaced like he just realized he'd said the wrong thing. "So it's poison, then." His friend shrugged bony shoulders, and Arthur shook his head. "Why is always poison, with us? Fine – and you have the antidote?"

"Yes. I'll hide in here until your father cries his tears and then give you the antidote." He put his hands in either jacket pocket and removed two tiny glass vials. "Gaius is going to give us ten minutes, and then go for your father."

Arthur sighed, accepting the dose of clear amber liquid that Merlin handed him. "If it's the only way to save Camelot," he decided, removing the stopper. "Bottoms up." It was bitter, that mixture, and the taste clung to his tongue unpleasantly.

"No," he heard Merlin say, as his muscles involuntarily relaxed, and he felt his body slump against his friend, slide down to rest on the stone floor, a slender hand with long fingers cushioning the back of his head. "But it's the only way to save your father."

Arthur was aware of darkness, for a few moments. He was rather surprised, in a vague way, that it was dark. He'd half expected the bright pure light he still sometimes dreamed about, Merlin appearing with translucent blue skin and shining golden eyes. He waited, but Merlin didn't come. _Don't be late_, he thought at his friend.

_Am I ever?_ The whisper slid along his consciousness, coaxing him back. He felt heavy and clumsy, his vision blurry and his hearing unreliable. He blinked up at a halo of unkempt black hair and a pair of clear blue eyes, sensing some violent and confused action behind his friend that Merlin was paying no attention to, instead focused on _him_. It had been moments, only, he thought, but his chamber was full of people – fighting.

_Troll_, he thought – it was an incongruously childish fear – _there's a troll in my bedchamber. Father. _

Those thoughts brought him to full alertness like a shock of cold water in his face. He struggled up to see the troll in all her warty gray-green monstrosity, white dress now filthy and stained, advancing upon Uther, leaning weakly against the wall, tears and horror on his face.

She was able to rip doors from their hinges, he remembered, and used Merlin's body for handholds to scramble up from the floor. He lurched across the room, aware of guards thrown or fallen into tangles of red cloaks and weaponry, aware of the servant Jonas, and physically shoved the troll away from his father as hard as he could manage.

Still too weak. She turned on him with a snarl of tusks and raspy voice, "Now is that any way to treat your dear old stepmother?" Those massive ugly hands seized his clothing, the talons scraping his skin, and he felt himself flying through the air to collide with the stone wall – and then the floor.

He lay in a swirl of painful sensation, gasping for breath – Merlin? Where was Merlin? – Uther surely wouldn't care about the charge of theft, the use of magic in his presence without his express permission. Arthur opened his eyes to find Jonas looming leering over him – he felt the familiar curve of the hilt of his sword in his hand and never wondered how it had gotten there, _thank you Merlin_, swinging with more luck than strength.

Jonas jerked, then collapsed curled in on himself like some giant insect or reptile. Arthur rolled to his knees as the troll gave a terrible yell, batting another guard and his father aside to charge at him, yellow eyes gleaming with animal rage. Merlin slid into him on his knees, supporting lifting protecting him – his eyes glowed also, but with the pure fierce gold of magic.

Arthur's rug ripped itself away from the hideous stumpy feet, and the creature flew backward to land heavily. Arthur could barely stand without his friend to lean on, but he drove forward without hesitation, stabbing his sword right through the troll's chest. His knees gave way but it didn't matter, not with Merlin's arms around him to prevent him falling.

"We did it," his friend whispered with triumphant joy, and he focused on Merlin's voice rather than the gruesome sounds and smells of the beast's expiration. "We did it."

He felt the warmth and presence of someone else join them, heard the faint familiar clink of the medallion-chains around his father's neck as Uther tangled his arms with Merlin's to embrace his son. "Thank you," the king said, a tremor below the projected firmness in his tone. "_Thank you_."

**A/N: I wanted to finish the Beauty and the Beast ep in full before posting the first chapter, so it was a bit later than usual… but I posted two today because I am going on vacation starting tomorrow, for two weeks. So no updates for a while, but I promise I will still be writing…**


	18. Shades of the Past

**2:7 Up in Smoke**

The Pendragon family met Bayard and his retinue in the great hall. Arthur, a step behind and to his father's right, as Morgana was on Uther's left, could not help remembering welcoming the Mercian ruler the previous spring for talks of treaties. High hopes and expectations ended in near-disaster, with Merlin poisoned and lying near death while Arthur disobeyed his king and risked his life and Bayard was forcibly confined to his chamber. The parting had been stiff and embarrassed on both sides.

"Bayard, I trust your journey was pleasant and uneventful," Uther said, reaching to take the other's hand in greeting.

"I can't complain," Bayard said smoothly, then affected to search behind Uther, taking in Arthur and Morgana's presence with a courteous nod, glancing over the handful of council members and knights assembled. "I must confess my eagerness to meet your new bride, my lord, I rather thought your lady wife would be present here today?"

"The Lady Catrina Tregor was lost with her family to the depredations of marauders in the north," Uther stated dispassionately.

It had been the topic of heated discussion in the council – whether to admit the truth of the troll's enchantment, already witnessed by the council members, a handful of knights and servants, or whether to fabricate a story of a tragic accident making a widower of the Pendragon king for the second time. So they were fools, or liars; Arthur found it hard to accept that his father's choices meant all of their reputations were at stake, either way.

Bayard was politely astonished. "Oh, but I had heard -" he said, "a royal wedding had taken place between the houses of Pendragon and Tregor."

"The person who arrived in Camelot claiming to be the Lady Catrina," Uther said in the same flat emotionless voice, "was an imposter with a stolen seal, and executed as soon as my eyes were opened to the deception."

"I see," Bayard said, suitably impressed and subdued.

Arthur caught Morgana's slightly-raised eyebrow, and stopped his own wry smirk. He'd forgotten that their father was more than a fierce warlord, he was an accomplished diplomat. Rumors might persist about the true identity of the imposter, but Uther Pendragon had re-established himself as ruthless and unforgiving as ever, fully capable of managing and defending his throne and kingdom, when all was said and done.

So the treaty held. And maybe, if the two rulers met stiff and embarrassed, this year, after a week they might part with a better understanding.

…..*…..

The second day of Bayard's visit a hunting party was planned and assembled, including both rulers, the Mercian retinue, and a good number of the knights of Camelot, as well as the Pendragon prince and princess. The hunting party made camp at several hours' distance from Camelot. The outing was planned for a single day, but pavilions were erected for shade and repose. Servants stood ready with refreshment, and a large central firepit was organized to provide the noon repast.

Merlin was present, but not included with the hunters. In spite of his habitual presence at Arthur's side and back when the prince left the citadel, he knew that he was a tacit and awkward reminder of unpleasant incidents for both rulers – last week, for Uther, and last year, for Bayard. Since he remained with the serving attendants at the pavilion, but without a clearly assigned duty, he found himself tasked with gathering firewood.

He trudged over the crest of a ridge overlooking the hunting camp, the white stone spires of Camelot visible in the green sea of forest foliage halfway to the horizon. His arms ached under the weight of the burden that rose to his chin, and blocked his view of his footing enough that he tripped on the edge of a rock and half his load of firewood tumbled from his arms.

Merlin sighed, suddenly tired and maybe a bit discouraged. The suspicion native to a king's court, and often justified here in Camelot, sometimes felt like a drain on his energy, coupled with the worry and tension that complicated his friendship with the prince. How long since he'd used his magic for something fun or frivolous or beautiful, rather than restricted it to something permitted, necessary, vital to defense?

He looked out over the valley to Camelot, then seated himself on a fallen log, his gathered firewood balanced on his knees. It was beautiful, the citadel, everything that Camelot was to him. The ideal, the concept of confident and persistent striving for a better greatness.

Smoke rose from the temporary camp's firepit, clouding and blurring and obscuring the gleaming white towers, and he reached for his magic without thinking. A bit of wind, shift to the northwest by a dozen yards, and…

He paused, whimsically considering. Then he surrendered to the impulse – something beautiful and lighthearted with his magic, something that accepted what was and improved. He whispered, "_Hors, beride tha heofonum_," lifting his hand to guide and manipulate the image he wanted.

The smoke swirled and gathered, forming the mane and tail, head and body of a horse, four hooves galloping slowly but surely upward. He tipped his head to watch, allowing himself a smile of satisfied joy, and dropped his hand as the charm spent itself. Magic dissipated on the breeze, replaced with shapeless rising smoke.

Merlin startled at the sound of a female voice very near his left shoulder. "I knew you had to be up here somewhere." Morgana stepped closer, the reins of her mount trailing over the elbow of her riding jacket as she stripped her gloves.

"You left the hunting party?" He shuffled to the end of the log as she seated herself beside him.

"Yes – bickering like children over some tracks." She rolled her eyes. "Show me how you did that?" she asked, and he grinned happily.

"It's a simple spell," he said, "but you have to have the image in your head, what you want to see. What you want it to do, is about manipulating the element of air, sculpting the smoke, and –" he stopped, feeling his face heat as she arched an eyebrow and the corners of her lips drew up in girlish glee at his enthusiasm. He ducked his head, facing the valley and the city and the smoke, speaking the spell again. "You can see it, can't you?" he asked. "You can sense what I'm doing?"

She hummed in eager thoughtfulness. "Do something else. Can you?"

He whispered to change the spell, and the galloping horse rolled into a giant cat, crouching over its front paws, the long column of rising smoke its lashing tail behind it. Morgana drew in a breath and leaned forward, and a gust of dirty gray that puffed up from the firepit became the small scurrying form of a mouse. Merlin raised his other hand, releasing a few of his gathered sticks to the ground. The smoke cat pounced, the mouse darted out from underneath it. The smoke rolled over itself as the cat reformed still chasing the mouse upward to the higher swifter breezes and blowing away.

Without prompting, Merlin breathed, "_Draca_," and the small thin cloud of smoke collected and expanded as though contained within a clear bubble of air, revolving and turning and finally taking shape and motion. Head and neck extended, four legs dropped down below the body, a pair of transparent gray wings spread and spread until it seemed they might overshadow the valley – and then began to flap, great surges of motion with no sound or other air displacement, the neck and head and tail in graceful sinuous motion, gamboling in the air as he'd often seen Aithusa do, when he was younger.

"Now you're just showing off," Morgana said, sounding breathless.

Merlin laughed and released the magic to blow away in disappearing wisps over the treetops. "Do you want to try?" he asked, feeling shy and bold all at once.

Her eyes widened. "Can I?" she said, and glanced around to see that no one was near them.

"Try something easy," he suggested. "A tree or a flower, a tower, a simple shape that doesn't require motion. _Thaem aesce_ will do a tree."

She gave him an uncertain look, closed her eyes briefly to take a deep breath, then spoke the spell, repeating it to correct her pronunciation subtly. The smoke rose unaffected for a moment, and Merlin silently encouraged the princess to patience and persistence. Then the smoke roiled slowly outward at the top, the column taking on the vertical striations of a tree trunk. Morgana gasped in pleased surprise and triumph, and lost her tenuous control, allowing the smoke to return to its natural behavior.

"I did it, Merlin," she breathed, sparkling with childish happiness. "I –" She turned to him and froze, the color and smile gone from her face in an instant.

He turned to follow her line of vision and immediately stood, dumping the last of his gathered burden of firewood onto the ground. Uther Pendragon stalked toward them, half a dozen of the other members of the hunting party behind him, all mounted except Arthur, who held the reins of his mount and his father's, and met Merlin's eyes over Uther's shoulder. Merlin read his thought in an instant, and agreed.

_Merlin, you idiot._

…..*…..

Disappointment, apprehension, hope – Arthur could not have described his mix of feelings as his father strode toward the young sorcerer.

The hunting party already headed back to the noon camp; everyone had seen the images in the smoke. Uther hadn't reacted much, but their course had altered slightly, to bring them to the ridge, the vantage point overlooking the camp, and the fire. And the smoke.

Arthur guessed his father hadn't realized the differences in the last image of the tree. The others had been graceful, clearly defined, intricate. The tree was slow to form, hesitant, not much more than a vague shape. He was not at all surprised to see his half-sister sharing the seat with Merlin.

His father stalked toward them, boots crunching the underbrush; Morgana was nervously pale, Merlin on his feet in an attitude of respect. Uther halted, hands on his hips. "Well?"

There was silence for the space of an indrawn breath, Morgana's gaze on Merlin's back. Then the young sorcerer said evenly, "I humbly beg your pardon, Your Highness."

"Who authorized this ridiculous and distracting display of sorcery?" Uther demanded.

The obvious and intended answer was, _no one_, but Morgana surprised them all by standing and saying, "I did, Father. I asked him to show me the magic."

Uther missed a beat, but only one. He lowered his voice also; Arthur didn't think anyone behind him, Leon and Bayard the closest horsemen, heard the king's rebuke. "It is a misuse of your time, Morgana, and a challenge to my authority, however unintentional. Don't let it happen again."

Merlin murmured respectful agreement, while Morgana replied with a more casual, "Oh, Father," her customary sauciness subdued.

As Uther turned back to join the hunters, he saw Morgana turn a look of apologetic gratitude on their young friend for his willingness to take the blame, putting off the inevitable revelation of her magic to their father.

Merlin didn't see it, silently kneeling on the ground to gather the firewood that he'd dropped. A fleeting pang of something sympathetic passed Arthur's heart, but his father was in front of him, reaching to reclaim the reins of his mount with a stern expression.

Arthur reminded himself to punch Merlin's arm the next chance he got.

**A/N: So I'm back from vacation! Thanks for your patience for this chapter – once again two episodes, since "The Witchfinder" ends up being quite short (and nobody minds if it makes this chapter longer, do they?). Hope you enjoy! **

**Also, the additional spells for this ep. were taken from ep.1.10 "The Moment of Truth", and my own (probably poor) translation of "tree" into Old English.**

…**..*…..**

**2:8 Shades of the Past**

"We have watchmen for this sort of thing," Arthur teased, sauntering toward the parapet of the tower where Morgana waited, her eyes on the turn of the east road visible between the trees.

She didn't turn, but he didn't need to see her face; he could hear the nervous excitement in her voice. "Please behave yourself like a gentleman, Arthur. She's _never_ visited me in Camelot before."

It was a detail Arthur – and more importantly, Uther – was aware of. Morgause's missive had not been a topic of much discussion; of course the princess' half-sister was welcome to visit. Arthur had watched the king's jaw tighten, and knew what was going through his mind. The new leader of a society of sorceresses making her first visit to Camelot – Uther would not be any kind of king if he did not have his suspicions.

The problem was, Arthur could also see what Morgana was thinking. Her sister was almost a decade older than she was; she'd been a baby, still, when Morgause left home for the priestess' isle. Morgana, Arthur knew, had always desired a better relationship, a closer connection with her sister. He hadn't seen Morgause since his early teen years; she'd been condescending and distant, too intent upon her studies to bother with the adolescent son of her mother's sometime lover. He wasn't sure whether her attitude had more to do with his inferior age, the awkwardness of sharing a half-sibling, or because her talent with magic made her feel superior to everyone else.

He had to wonder if Morgause's sudden interest in her had anything to do with the emergence of her magic, and Uther Pendragon's well-known prejudice against it. Though he wished his sister would employ more of her habitual rebelliousness in declaring her magic, would be able to trust that their father would come to terms with it, there was a tacit agreement between the three of them who knew Morgana's secret – Gaius, Merlin, and himself – that it was hers to tell, when she was ready. He hoped Morgause would not force the sister they shared into something she would regret, either intentionally or inadvertently. He hoped it was not the High Priestess' objective to turn Morgana against the Pendragon side of her family and maneuver the princess into joining the other sorceresses at the isle.

Uther would oppose that, even in the shock and anger of discovering his daughter's unsuspected ability, but if Morgana decided to go, Arthur doubted anything could stop them. Not the king or the knights or the army, if Uther were so inclined to risk ordering it. Merlin could, maybe, but he never would use the power of his magic to stop Morgana being with her chosen sibling or journeying to a place where she could study magic openly.

"As much as I enjoy humiliating you in public," Arthur said, leaning on the stone parapet at her side, their shoulders touching, "you have my word, Morgana."

…..*…..

Merlin's timing was nearly perfect. No sooner had the steaming platter of roast chicken and golden new potatoes touched the rough planks of their eating table, when the court physician pushed through his door with a weary sigh. And then a surprised and pleased, "Merlin!"

"Dinner is ready," he told his mentor with a happy grin.

Gaius lifted the shoulder strap of his round medicine bag over his shoulder and set it down before he joined Merlin at the table. "I must say, this is rather more appetizing than the dinner I had been expecting," he said. "You aren't with Arthur this evening?"

The previous night, the first dinner of Morgause's visit, had been a full-court banquet, with the royal family and their guest at the high table, knights and councilmen and courtiers all around. Gaius and Merlin attended as a matter of course, the court physician granted a seat as always, his apprentice behind his chair to attend to his mentor's needs and requests, picking and choosing his own meal from passing trays.

They knew Morgause was the new High Priestess, though the details of Nimueh's death remained between him and Gaius and Arthur. Uther, of course, couldn't deny a declaration of intent to visit from the highest-ranking sorceress in the five kingdoms, but the banquet had begun without any official proclamation or public welcome, and the open forum and seating arrangement precluded any serious or sustained conversation between diners. The king would tolerate Morgause's presence for the sake of his daughter and diplomacy, but it was a familial and not an official visit.

"No," Merlin said. "Private dinners in chambers – I think Morgana invited Morgause and Arthur to join her."

"You're not concerned about leaving Arthur in the same room as a High Priestess?" Gaius asked.

Arthur, at Uther's right, had looked bored through the banquet. Merlin was relieved at that, actually, Nimueh had paid too much of the wrong kind of attention to the prince, and he was happy to have Arthur ignored.

"You know, I find I'm not," Merlin answered. "She hasn't looked twice at Arthur since she arrived." Alone, on horseback, in full armor – if that wasn't a statement, he didn't know what was. "If she tried to do anything to him, not only would Morgana be able to sense it, she'd be furious. And I worry less about what she might say to Morgana, if Arthur is sitting right there."

Morgana at her father's left at the high table had been radiant, the color of excitement and happiness in her cheeks, her eyes sparkling as she chatted to her half-sister. Merlin hoped fiercely that nothing would happen to disillusion the princess as to the reason of the visit; it seemed to him that Morgause hadn't a fraction of Morgana's feeling about their reunion. There was interest there, certainly. Morgause had as much as said to him that she knew about her younger sister's magic and was concerned with furthering her education, royal status notwithstanding. But there was a distinct lack of emotion that made Merlin uneasy for Morgana's sake.

As he'd watched her answer Morgana absently and pick at the food served on her plate, Morgause had lifted her head and looked directly, deliberately, across the room into his eyes. And he couldn't read her intention – whether challenge or curiosity or gratitude for what little he'd been able to do for Morgana. A simple reminder of her awareness of his presence, maybe. The acknowledgement of the tangle of loyalties represented by the four at the high table, and him.

"Hm," Gaius said, unconvinced. "Do be careful this week, Merlin."

"I always am," Merlin said to his mentor's raised eyebrow, unperturbed by the old man's skepticism.

…..*…..

Arthur prowled the woods, placing his boots carefully, soundlessly, his crossbow resting on his right shoulder in casual readiness, leaving his left arm free for balance. He paused to listen and to watch and to appreciate the stillness and simplicity and serenity of the forest in comparison to the citadel the last two days. It had felt very much like riding into a suspected ambush – waiting and watching, and the longer nothing happened the tighter the tension.

The rustle of leaves and twigs behind him was scant warning and he was still bracing his feet and turning to look over his shoulder when Merlin crashed gracelessly into him. Arthur staggered two steps, but Merlin rebounded, landing sprawled in the underbrush. He looked up at Arthur in innocent astonishment for an instant before a sheepish grin spread across his face.

"Pay attention, Merlin," Arthur scolded in fond exasperation. "I did hope that a breath of fresh air might clear your head, but you are particularly dozy today!"

"Yes, because shooting something always refreshes the intellect," Merlin scoffed from his position on the ground.

Arthur reached down to take him by the hand. "I haven't shot anything – yet," he said meaningfully, hauling his friend up to his feet.

Merlin's blue eyes twinkled. "I was starting to worry about you," he said. "You hadn't threatened my life yet today."

He pulled his smile back. "Consider yourself threatened," he told the younger man. Then he rapped his knuckles on the skull covered by thick black hair, adding teasingly, "_What_ is going on in there, anyway?"

Merlin said, "I…" then glanced at him hesitantly. "Do you mind if I don't say? It's probably nothing."

Arthur sighed, turning away and letting the weight of the crossbow swing his arm. He'd hoped, for Merlin's sake, that there would be no magical mishaps during Morgause's visit, but the young sorcerer was likely feeling the same anxious strain that Arthur was trying to relieve with this hunting trip. "Probably?" he emphasized, keeping the conversation light. "If it's inside your head, I guarantee that it's nothing."

He heard Merlin murmur behind him, "If only you could."

"Suddenly a pessimist, Merlin?" Arthur asked, sauntering on, heading generally downhill, making no effort now to silence his footfalls. Between Merlin's fall and their comfortable bickering, any worthwhile prey was long gone into safe hiding.

"Well, you see, a certain prince has a habit of requesting me to shut up, and I was merely trying to anticipate –"

"Shut up," Arthur said, raising his hand in an unspoken _Hold_ command, though it was only Merlin following him, and the young sorcerer ignored his signals often enough to make him wonder if Merlin actually understood them, or just got lucky once in a while.

"You see?" Merlin huffed, obeying at least half Arthur's wishes by standing still. "There is just no pleasing you sometimes, you -"

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur insisted, turning his head and waiting for a repetition of the faint far sound that had caught his attention.

"What are you thinking Merlin, shut up Merlin, I swear that I–"

Arthur rounded on his friend, clapping his gloved hand over the lower half of Merlin's face to force his silence. Startled blue eyes widened, but only for a moment. The sound repeated, faint but identifiable. A woman's scream.

Adjusting his grip on the crossbow to be ready to fire it as he sprinted, Arthur ignored Merlin's breathless protests behind him, crashing through the underbrush. He barely had time to glimpse the bright colors of the women's clothing in the confusion of dozens of armed attackers before he recognized one voice and increased his pace almost recklessly.

He fired the crossbow bolt into the first bandit he saw – a fleeting detail flashing across his attention, discarded as unnecessary to survival – then tossed the weapon aside with his left hand, drawing his sword with his right. He continued his rush, forging straight for the women at the center of the conflict, dealing swiftly and decisively with the men in his path who turned from their target to face him with surprise and determination, knowing that Merlin at his back would watch the flanks of their charge.

As he skidded into the clearing, he heard his sister shriek a spell, saw an enemy lifted into the air to slam backward into a tree. Morgause held a position with her back to Morgana – neither had blade nor bow, but managed to hold the horde of mercenaries at bay with their chaotic spellwork.

Arthur gave the noose of enemies a swift glance, picking out their leader and advancing on him in an instant. The man looked almost relieved to face Arthur's steel rather than magic, but it was short-lived. Their swords met, blocked, clanged, parried, then Arthur ducked, feinted, and rammed his blade through the man's chest at an angle.

He pivoted to block another pair of attacks, killing or wounding a second, hearing the mingled voices of the three magic-users behind him. He faced a third, who paused with their blades crossed between them, fear in his eyes as he met Arthur's gaze. The mercenary glanced behind him, then turned to flee, joining half a dozen of his fellows in a disorganized headlong withdrawal.

Arthur straightened, realized he was breathing hard and sweating, wiped the side of his face on his sleeve and took a deep breath as he watched the routed men disappear. He'd have to report as soon as possible, send a contingent of knights out after the remaining men, either to capture them or make sure they left Camelot's lands again.

Morgause, in a dark red tunic over a crisp white shirt, black trousers and high boots, stepped next to him. She gestured, closing her fist as if in threat, and the last limping straggler jerked, tumbling lifelessly into the underbrush.

Before Arthur had a chance to object, Merlin appeared on the sorceress' other side, reaching to her outstretched hand but not quite touching her. "They are in retreat," the young sorcerer said evenly, "my lady."

She turned away from Arthur to meet Merlin's eyes. His face held the expression that always made Arthur glad the younger man was his ally, and he didn't look away until she turned to join Morgana again. Arthur glanced at his sister – upright and coherent, uninjured and recovering from the shock and threat of danger.

Then he took a moment to look around at the mercenaries they'd killed or incapacitated. Most were dressed in the rough browns and grays of banditry, but he realized what it was he'd noticed. They were clean-shaven – just _clean_, actually – their hair cut to a similar length. Mercenaries, more organized and disciplined than a larger-than-normal band of thieves. Or a raiding party disguised; they still met with such occasionally from Caerleon, but they were to the northwest of Camelot, and Caerleon's lands were several days' ride to the southeast.

"Who were they?" Merlin said, voicing his thought as if he'd read Arthur's mind. He grunted in agreement of the unspoken observation, and in ignorance of the answer, both.

"Arthur," Morgana said suddenly, and Merlin turned at the same time as he did. She was standing over the leader that Arthur had killed; Morgause had moved away several yards to check their horses were uninjured.

"What is it?"

"I recognize this one," Morgana said, not looking up from the corpse. "That L-shaped scar on his face near his ear. He was one of those that tried to kidnap me three months ago."

"I thought those were a troop of Odin's men," Merlin said.

"They wore his colors," Arthur agreed, looking down at the body contemplatively.

"I thought your uncle Agravaine was supposed to be guarding the lands of Camelot against Odin," Merlin continued neutrally.

Morgana looked up then, and Arthur met her eyes. "So did I," Arthur said.

For the sake of a sense of safety and comfort, Arthur and Merlin walked the two women back to where they'd left their own mounts, and rode in company back to Camelot. None of them spoke much, but when they reached the central courtyard, and attending guards came to take charge of the four horses, Morgause spoke to Morgana, who nodded and ascended the stair to wait for her sister at the top. The High Priestess stepped to Arthur's side; over her shoulder he saw Merlin stumble in trying to climb the stairs and keep his eye on them at the same time.

"I wanted to thank you, Arthur Pendragon," Morgause said, in the concentrated, deliberate way she had of speaking. "For coming to the defense of myself and my sister."

"I would have done it for anyone," Arthur said. "And she's my –"

"Regardless, I would like to offer you a more substantive gesture of appreciation," the blonde sorceress continued, holding his gaze intently. Over Arthur's courteous protest she continued, "What is it you desire most in this world, my lord?"

Arthur almost laughed in her face. What he wanted was not in her power to give. A lasting peace and security for Camelot – hell, why stop there? all Albion, then – happiness and security for his kin and trust between them, Uther, Morgana, Gaius, Merlin, Leon… to someday find a lady with whom he could build a satisfactory relationship…

"Would you like to meet your mother?" she said.

Arthur wouldn't have been more shocked if she'd pulled a knife from her sleeve and plunged it in his heart. It felt much the same.

She smiled, one eyebrow lifting as she read his expression. "Tonight, then," she added. "The clearing to the south of the lower town. Midnight." She paused, and her smile changed. "I know you don't fully trust me; your sorcerer is welcome to join you." She held his eyes as she turned to climb the stairs, take her sister's arm.

Merlin spoke briefly and she answered. He didn't smile, and as they went inside, his eyes returned to Arthur.

"My lord?" the attendant said respectfully at his elbow, and he realized he was still holding his reins. He relinquished his mount with a nod of thanks, then sank down to a sitting position on the stairs in the shadow of the horseman statue.

After a moment, Merlin joined him, wrapping long arms loosely around his lanky legs. "What did she say to you?" he asked quietly, and Arthur told him.

"Is it possible?' he said. "I mean, can such a thing be done?"

Merlin was silent a long moment, his gaze directed out the archway leading to the drawbridge and the lower town. "Yes," he said, with the lilt of a question at the end of the word. "But I'm afraid it's very close to dark magic. The spirits of the dead aren't meant to be disturbed."

Arthur called to his mind's eye the portrait of his mother kept behind a curtain in his father's chamber, which he sneaked a look at whenever he had occasion to be in the room alone, which was very rarely. His mother in rose-colored satin, corn-silk hair bound with pearls, pale green eyes and small smile hinting at compassion and serenity, and the longing he felt was a physical ache in his chest. His decision was made.

"Arthur," Merlin began hesitantly, "please think this through before you make a decision? I don't trust Morgause. I don't believe she came here only to visit family. Those mercenaries… Arthur, she could have taken them all out in a matter of moments by herself." He turned to look at his friend. Merlin's eyes were on his hands, clasped so tightly at his knees that his knuckles were white. "_I_ could have taken them all out in a matter of moments," the young sorcerer admitted.

Arthur knew the younger man's reticence for such fighting, his instincts always to defend and protect and allow life and retreat to an enemy; it was part of the reason he trusted Merlin's magic completely. Wouldn't it be reasonable to assume that a woman might be even more sensitive to killing with magic? But Morgause was a High Priestess, and her sister had been threatened…

He shook his head. "Even you need help sometimes, Merlin," he said. "She said you could come."

Merlin relaxed slightly. "When?"

"Tonight. Midnight."

The younger man nodded in confirmation. "You're not going to tell your father?" he asked.

Arthur took a deep breath and let it out slowly. To give his father a chance to see his beloved and long-lost wife again, to be a family, if only for a few moments… but Uther's suspicion of magic in general and Morgause in particular would never allow the meeting to take place. "No," he said, and nudged his friend with his elbow. "And not Gaius either, then," he advised. Merlin nodded again, but said nothing.

…..*…..

Merlin waited three-quarters of an hour for the prince, in the black shadow of the mounted statue in the central courtyard. Not because he thought Arthur would try to steal away without him, but because he thought it wouldn't occur to the prince to wait – not with seeing his mother for the first and only time on his mind.

And when a cloaked figure who walked with Arthur's tread descended the grand stair, he didn't pause before heading across the courtyard, though Merlin was quite sure he hadn't been seen, motionless in the shadow. Without saying a word, he stepped out to Arthur's side, matching his stride.

Arthur's blonde forelock gleamed in the moonlight as he turned to look at Merlin with only a faint surprise, and a quick nod.

"I wish you would reconsider," Merlin said in a low voice.

Arthur heard him, but didn't answer until they'd passed the two guards at the drawbridge with a brief pause for recognition - they had no orders restricting the prince's movements, and in any case were stationed there to prevent anyone entering without justifiable cause, not leaving.

"I never knew my mother," Arthur said, though that was something Merlin was already aware of, and he knew it. "I barely know anything about her."

Merlin ventured, "Can't you ask your father?" Better than trusting a High Priestess, though he understood why Arthur's answer would be _no_. He himself hadn't asked his mother to relive any more memories of Balinor, either.

"He refuses to talk of her," Arthur told him. "It must be too painful for him. Sometimes it's as if she never even existed." Merlin followed the prince through the sleeping lower town, the stillness somehow more absolute than that of the forest beyond. Arthur added slowly, "I still have a sense of her, almost as though she is part of me… I have no memories of my mother, Merlin – this is my chance to make at least one."

"Your father will never forgive you if he finds you've collaborated with Morgause for this reason," Merlin said. He didn't believe for a moment that the offer was merely a token of the sorceress' gratitude, repayment of a debt owed to the prince for saving her life. "We don't actually know why she's doing this."

"If you were granted the same opportunity, would you not want to meet your father?"

Merlin understood why Arthur would not change his mind. But, "No," he said, falling in behind the prince on the footpath leading to the clearing.

Arthur stopped and turned, but Merlin could see nothing but the shape of him, a solid black against the transparent darkness of the forest at almost-midnight. "You would not want to meet your father?" he asked.

"It's not that," Merlin said. "Our situations aren't the same, Arthur. When my father died, he had no idea of my existence. For his ghost to learn that he'd left my mother to raise his illegitimate child – to leave her family and her village for twelve years in a druid camp – to be alone…" He shook his head, though probably Arthur couldn't see him either. "No. His spirit probably rests far easier with the knowledge that he died defending her, the probability that she found love again, married and had a family."

The shadow that was Arthur didn't move. "You've thought about this," the prince said, in a familiar tone halfway between mockery and compassion.

Merlin allowed a small smile. "A bit," he said. He saw movement, but Arthur's hand landing on his shoulder still caught him by surprise.

"If it's a trick or a trap, we won't know her purpose until it's sprung," Arthur said. Merlin nodded, relieved to guess that his friend had thought the offer through logically as well as emotionally. "Keep your eyes open, then." He cuffed the side of Merlin's head lightly before releasing him and continuing on to the clearing.

Through the trees they could see flickering lights, and as Arthur stepped off the path onto the shorter grass carpeting the open ground, torches planted in the ground flared into life – six of them in two lines of three, each opposite another, twenty feet apart. They'd entered between the first two; Morgause waited between the middle two in a blood-red silk gown, one sleeve black lace, one bare arm wound with a ribbon that matched the dress. Merlin felt the magic raise the hairs on the back of his neck and his forearms. He shrugged off his own cloak, stepping away from Arthur's side to see the High Priestess more clearly.

She noticed, and gave him a slow smile. "Do please relax, and restrain yourself from interfering," she told him condescendingly. "I did not lure your prince here to chop his head off, after all."

Morgause lit a taper from one of the torches, and turned to a block of stone that was not native to the clearing, waist-high, roughly two feet by three. Using the taper, she began to light candles that bordered the top surface of the block – _altar_, his mind said - framing a cluster of milky-clear crystals that would have needed two hands to carry it.

_She had prepared_, Merlin realized. _She had _come_ prepared_. He kept his distance, curiosity fighting with caution and this time a losing battle.

"It is time," the High Priestess said, lifting dark eyes to them. "Close your eyes." Arthur obeyed; Merlin did not. As she began to speak, "_Aris mid min miclan mihte thin suna to waes_," time seemed to slow. The night breeze lifting the trailing strands of ivy from the surrounding oaks stilled, the vines frozen gracefully sideways. "_Hider eft funde on thysne middangeard thin suna weis_."

The air shimmered just in front of the altar, an arms' length from the waiting prince, took the form of a woman. Beautiful and ageless, her dress simple yet elegant – glittery lace over creamy silk, a string of pearls arranged in her hair - the shade still lacked both color and vitality. As Arthur opened his eyes, Ygraine said, "Arthur."

"Mother," Arthur breathed, and there was an ache in Merlin's chest and throat, also.

The spirit took the step between them, and took Arthur in her arms. He was taller than she, his shoulders looking _broader_ somehow, with her thin pale arms encircling them. "My son," she said, in a voice Merlin had heard Hunith use more than once, upon his arrival or departure. Ygraine leaned back. "When I last held you, you were a tiny baby. You were staring up at me… those few seconds I held you were the most precious of my life."

It seemed to Merlin that Arthur didn't know whether to lift his arms to try to return his mother's embrace, or not. He choked out, "I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Ygraine declared, lifting her hand to his cheek to brush at the single tear that glittered there.

"It was my birth that caused you to die," Arthur whispered.

The shade shook her head, loving dissent on her face. "You are not to blame," she said.

"I cannot bear the thought that you died because of me," Arthur said.

Merlin felt the honor of sharing this moment of vulnerability with his friend, but was exquisitely aware of the sorceress on the other side of the block. He shifted his gaze from mother and son, and found Morgause's eyes on him.

"Do not think that," Ygraine insisted. "What matters is that you lived. Now I see you, I would have given my life willingly." She smiled at him. Arthur raised his hand to cup hers on his face, but she drew back.

As the slender former queen stepped away from her son, toward the misty divider of realms, as the ivy resumed its sinuous motion with the wind, Merlin heard an impatient rustle and thump of boots on the path, and Uther Pendragon burst into the clearing in the full expression of his wrath.

Merlin saw in an instant that it was not a chance meeting – the king had gone looking for Arthur with a fairly accurate idea of what he would find. Leon pushed through at Uther's left, and Gaius' blue robe and white hair were clear at the king's other side. Perhaps Merlin had not been as surreptitious as he'd thought, leaving the physician's chambers.

But before Uther could so much as open his mouth to begin his harangue against the risks of uncontrolled magic and the foolishness of Arthur's decision to participate and the consequences for all involved, the spirit turned. Uther froze, and paled, fury dropped to incredulity… and then wonder. Merlin saw his lips form his wife's name, as the lady herself – very slowly, and fading to transparency all the while – kissed the tips of her fingers and blew the sweet salutation to him.

Merlin was aware that the blonde sorceress had emerged from behind the altar, had moved even with him to face the four natives of Camelot, so close that they could have reached out to touch each other's hands. In glancing at her, he caught the gleam of gold magic in her eyes; his defensive instinct rose for a single instant, even as he recognized both the unspoken spell and its effect, freezing the three older men in place, unable to move or speak, but leaving all other senses free.

Arthur turned then, and Merlin had no time to read his prince's expression before Morgause faced him deliberately. "And you, Merlin Emrys," she said, her dark eyes glinting in the wildly flickering candlelight. "Your efforts should be rewarded as well. Does the son wish to meet his father?"

"No," Merlin said immediately. Arthur took a single hesitant step toward him, but said nothing.

Morgause moved away from them all, back toward the altar, her steps measured and calculated. "No?" she said. "A sorcerer, a dragonlord, not interested in his heritage?"

Each day the High Priestess had been in Camelot, each time Merlin had shared company with her, he had the sense that she often said more than one thing with each phrase she used, that her words often, if not always, had a deeper meaning. He felt it more strongly, now.

She bent over the altar over the crystal, as if gazing deep into its depths, then raised her eyes to his. "If not Balinor," she said, her voice insidious and seductive as a viper's hiss, "perhaps Aurelian?"

Merlin felt as if he'd been spelled to stillness also. The shock of the suggestion was overwhelmed by sudden longing. She was right – Balinor was one thing, Aurelian another. His grandfather had fought a losing war, had bid farewell to the last of his mighty kin, had sealed the hill and laid the magic to protect their sleep, without any assurance that it would one day be made right. He'd left Dinas Emrys, had given the prophecy to the druids, lived in peace and love for enough years to make the pain excruciatingly unbearable when he was again forced to flee for his life, his young son at his side. He'd been wounded and had died, leaving Balinor a child alone with strangers.

Merlin craved those few moments with his grandfather. He could see it so clearly, the older man bearded and wary, but joy breaking through the sorrow. _Here am I, the son of your son. The prophecy has been fulfilled. The dragons are free. And I stand with the prince of Camelot, ready to accomplish… _

Morgause flashed him a smile of cool comprehension and utter triumph, that broke his vision into bright and jagged pieces. Here he stood with Uther Pendragon in the clearing, son of the man who'd killed Aurelian, or near enough. The _becoming prince_ Constennin's grandson. Would Aurelian's spirit react with the accepting happiness he'd pictured, or with vengeful wrath as Kilgarrah had? _What mockery of destiny is this? It cannot be!_

And what of Uther's reaction to the shade of the murdered dragonlord?

The High Priestess began to speak. "_Aris mid min miclan mihte –"_

"No," Merlin blurted, quickly, desperately. Never had he wanted something so dangerous, and felt it so completely within his grasp. Never before had his choice been so clear, and so hard. The High Priestess had not come to threaten Prince Arthur's safety, nor to divide Morgana's loyalties. He met her eyes, dark and fathomless, and recognized the truth.

She had come for him. Nimueh had tried to trick and coerce the joining of his power to theirs; Morgause had come to persuade him of the logic of changing his mind. _"Thin sunsunu to waes –"_

"No!" he gasped, wrenching his limbs free. He whirled, knocking into Arthur, pushing him away. One look at the other three – Leon, Uther, and Gaius – at the head of the footpath was sufficient to tell him that they had heard and understood everything. With a swift gesture he released them from Morgause's spell, with another he extinguished the middle torch on the side nearest the city, and stumbled into the pathless darkness, intent only on putting as much distance as possible between himself and his temptation.

He heard Arthur's voice calling his name, Gaius' voice calling his name. He heard Uther's strident tones and moved faster yet. Now he wanted only to leave it all behind him. For a while.

…..*…..

Morgana missed her sister's departure by an hour.

"Oh, that's too bad!" she exclaimed in dismay, leaning onto the wide parapet at Arthur's side, as if a few more inches might bring her sister back into view. She sighed, then glanced up at Arthur. "Well, she is very busy."

He crossed his arms over his chest. He and Uther rarely agreed on the same course of action, but this time he was in complete accord with his father's decision. It was a far cry from Uther's dismissal of Merlin as a young druid boy from the knights' camp below Dinas Emrys, still sufficiently diplomatic for the High Priestess of the Isle, but a definite _I think you should leave_. Arthur was glad Morgana had somehow managed to sleep through the commotion in the citadel, the night before.

"And very important," Morgana continued wistfully, her eyes fixed on the far bend of the row visible through the trees and rolling hills. She twisted a patterned cuff around her wrist, and it caught Arthur's eye.

"Is this new?' he asked.

"Morgause gave it to me," she answered, still disconsolate over her half-sister's abrupt departure, but pleased over his notice of the gift. She held it out and he recognized the device as belonging to the House of Gorlois. "It's meant to stop the nightmares."

Arthur made a polite sound of admiration. Having seen the darkly delighted anticipation on the sorceress' face and the pained indecision on Merlin's – his young friend's headlong flight from something he so obviously wanted, simply to keep the peace between himself and the royal family, Arthur found himself bitter and suspicious of the gift.

"I thought the sleeping draft from Gaius blocked all but the most important," he commented.

"This will block them all," she said, giving the cuff a satisfied glance.

Morgana's dreams did occasionally serve as a warning of danger, for the Pendragons, for all of Camelot. And if those were all blocked – he couldn't help wondering if the High Priestess had intended that additional effect, or whether it had simply served to keep the princess removed from the events of the previous night. "Morgana," Arthur began, troubled, "I thought that you agreed we'd _use_ those dreams –"

"You don't know what it's like, Arthur Pendragon," Morgana flashed. "Those dreams are so real, and I can't wake from them until they're done, and then when I do – well, how would you like waking from a nightmare knowing that it was going to happen, sometime, in some way?"

Arthur reached as if he'd wrap his fingers around the silver bracelet, but didn't actually touch it. At the very least he'd try to talk her into letting Merlin examine it. "It is your choice, you know," he said softly. "No one should ever make you feel like the risks or suffering will be forced on you. And no one should make you feel guilty or responsible if you take the…" He stuttered to a stop, realizing that his attempt to reassure her was having the opposite effect.

"The easy way out?" Morgana finished his sentence in an ironic tone, looking at the piece of jewelry critically, now. "Thank you so much, dear brother. Next time maybe you could just say, _nice bracelet_?"

He returned her smile with a sheepish shrug, and they began by unspoken accord to pace the length of the wall. At the far end a familiar figure emerged from a doorway – tall and lanky, but with his black head bowed, long arms wrapped tightly about his body. Arthur assumed Gaius had told Merlin that Morgause was to leave at first light, and it must have been a relief for the young sorcerer, at least. But… Arthur imagined how he'd feel if he'd had to choose _not_ to meet his mother's spirit under circumstances such as Merlin's.

"Merlin!" he bellowed, cupping his hands around his mouth.

The young sorcerer stopped and turned, then uncrossed his arms and loped toward them, his grin shining through the weariness evident on his face. "Just spoke to your father," he told them both without preamble, when he reached them. He shook his head, as if he couldn't quite believe whatever the king had said to him.

Morgana said, with more sincerity than she'd ever used on her brother, "Merlin, I wanted to thank you. For – helping us, yesterday. For this week."

The young sorcerer gave her a sweet, gentle smile, understanding as Arthur did, what Morgana hadn't said. Understanding, also, that Morgana had no idea of what happened in the clearing. She gave Arthur a nod, also, and left them alone on the wall.

"Morgana's thanking me," Merlin marveled with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Gaius is proud, and your father grateful. I've never been this popular."

Arthur felt a corner of his mouth lift in a returning smile. "I'm almost certain it won't last," he told his friend, mock-serious.

Merlin's grin spread. "Just let me enjoy the moment?"

One moment only; then Arthur turned and punched his friend's arm.


	19. The Bastet Curse

**2:9 The Bastet Curse **

Gaius sat across the table from Merlin, watching him work. The old physician's hands were folded in his lap, hidden by the voluminous sleeves of his robe, and he didn't speak, letting Merlin choose from the little glass vials, measure and mix.

The patient in the bed, next to them in the single room of his home, was beyond caring which of them concocted his medicine, sleeping rather than unconscious, Merlin had been relieved to note. His wife did not show the same trust, wringing her hands and glancing from him to Camelot's court physician, the one actually summoned earlier that evening, as she lingered between the table and bed.

He smiled at the little bottle as he gave it a shake to watch the color of the liquid take on the faintest hue of blue. Gaius would stop him if he did something the old physician disagreed with; because he had not, Merlin knew that his diagnosis and chosen treatment was correct. Though the goodwife would not know that. He turned the smile on her, standing to hand her the vial.

"Half now," he said, "and half at midnight. And shake it again before you give him the second half."

She took it wordlessly, then glanced at Gaius. "If he's not better in the morning, let me know," the old man said kindly, fastening the wide lid on his round medicine case in preparation to leave. Merlin knew that the old physician did not expect to hear from the woman, and his heart soared in happy triumph.

The repetitive threatening rumble of the gray afternoon finally culminated in a fantastic thunder-and-lightning storm over Camelot, unnoticed in his concentration on his patient until they stepped through the door. Gaius lifted the hood of his outer robe, but Merlin was soaked through before he left the threshold.

He didn't even care, throwing out his arms for an exhilarated moment as if to embrace the wild elements. In early autumn the storm and night were cool to chilly, but it felt good after the closeness of the room, the pressure of responsibility discharged successfully. He felt a bit like running all the way back to the citadel, but wouldn't leave Gaius to make his way along the slick stormy street alone.

Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the black street and buildings of the lower town in a wet gleam; he saw that a strange four-wheeled cart was parked in front of the Rising Sun, just next door, for the night. The shafts were empty, the horse already stabled around to the rear for the night, the tall boxy shape of the cart covered by an oiled cloth lashed down against the storm – save for one corner, which had blown free.

As Merlin and Gaius made their way even with the cart, another bolt of lightning flashed brilliant through the street, and in that moment of brightness, Merlin clearly saw a human hand reaching between upright support bars of the cart's frame for the loose corner of the protective cloth, a white face pressed against the metal restraints of the cage.

"Gaius!" Merlin exclaimed in shocked warning, and stepped to the cart before the old physician had a chance to respond. He conjured an orb of pale blue light to provide reliable lighting, and the person retreated in a panicked scramble to the far end of the cart's cage. He could fairly smell the wrongness of bad magic emanating from the cart. "I'm sorry to have startled you," Merlin said, with a surprised sympathy. "It's all right, I won't hurt you." He reached without thinking to the padlock on the small hinged door at the rear of the cage. "_To_ –"

Gaius snatched his hand out of the air. "Merlin, _don't_," he cautioned. "You don't know why this person has been so restrained. Let me go inside and ask some questions before you get both of us in trouble." The old physician gently forced Merlin's hand back down to his side, splashing past him to the tavern door. The person in the cage reacted to the momentary light and noise of the open door as to Merlin's voice and magic, scuttling to the opposite corner.

He felt a little less guilty at that, but kept the orb glowing. "My name's Merlin," he said aloud, over the drumming of fat raindrops on every exposed surface. "Whatever kind of trouble you're in, don't worry – we'll help you."

Blue magelight glinted back from two eyes under a tangle of chestnut-colored hair, short but shaggy, the only clothing wrapped around the bony frame a tattered and shapeless blanket. Age and gender were indeterminate; the person shifted, leaning forward in a pose more suited to stalking predator than fleeing prey, and crept out of the corner on all fours.

"That's right," Merlin said encouragingly. "I won't hurt you. What's your name? What happened to you?"

Progress halted. The head dipped to the side, glittering eyes surveying him from a different angle. Then lips drew back from the teeth – was it a trick of the uncertain light that they looked _pointed_? – and growled at him, a sustained sound of threat that raised the hair on his arms and the back of his neck more thoroughly than the seasonal drop in air temperature. The sound increased in volume and intensity with barely a moment for breath to a genuine snarl, absolutely feral. The person launched themself so abruptly at the side of the cage, slipping one hand through to claw at his face, that he almost knocked Gaius over as he jumped back.

"_Come_, Merlin," Gaius said, clamping his hand on Merlin's shoulder as if to enforce obedience. The habitual stern tone of the old physician's voice was overlaid with an emotion that sounded both sad and old.

He argued, "But –"

"I've spoken to her family," Gaius told him, pulling his head down slightly so Merlin could hear him above the sound of the storm. "If ever you've had cause to trust my judgment, my boy, come away now. There is nothing we can do for her tonight."

_Her. Family_. Merlin shook his head, unable to reconcile the words with the image.

But. There was something else he sensed, something other than the tainted magic lingering about the cage. Something that reminded him of the troll's servant Jonas – _no telling what kind of creature_… The wind blew the flapping end of the oiled cloth against the bars of the cage, and the sodden hair off Merlin's forehead. The girl's eyes glittered from the far corner.

Gaius tugged at him. "I will explain everything to you once we reach our rooms, Merlin, I promise."

He whispered a spell to lash the loose corner down, protecting and hiding her, and released the magelight as the old physician led him by the grip on his sleeve, over the drawbridge, up the grand stair to the shelter of the citadel. Their clothing dripped on the white stone, gleaming in the pools of torchlight from wall sconces, all the way to the physician's chambers.

"_Bryne_," Merlin spoke to start both the roaring fire on the hearth and half the candles scattered around the room, at once. He peeled off his jacket to hang on the peg behind the door, demanding, "Well?"

"Change into dry clothes, first," Gaius advised, not meeting his eyes. "It is a long story."

Merlin didn't bother with a towel, just stripped his wet shirt and flung it over the open door of his cupboard to dry, pulling a dry one over his head to stick on his damp skin and absorb droplets from his hair as he dropped down the three stairs to the main chamber. "What did you find out?" he called to his mentor behind his own privacy screen, and set about heating water for a warm drink for both of them.

"They've traveled several days from the south," Gaius said, his voice slightly muffled. "They sought help from a number of healers, even among the druids. But when she was cast out of the camp, someone suggested they come to Camelot."

Merlin stopped, rocking on his heels at the hearth, disturbed. "It's against all the druids believe to reject someone in need of care," he said. "Why would they do such a thing?"

Gaius reappeared from behind the screen in a dry robe. "The girl is dangerous – she's cursed. Even the druids were afraid of her." Merlin froze half-bent over the small kettle of water nestled in the hot ashes at the edge of the fire. Gaius made a motion bidding him to leave what he was doing and join the old man at the table, then sat sideways, his eyes searching the rows of books on the shelf. "Every night at midnight this girl – Eilura is her name – undergoes a transformation both painful and horrifying, I was told. She becomes a large winged cat with one instinct only. To hunt and kill."

"To hunt and kill…" Merlin repeated, numb with shock.

Gaius gave him a sternly sorrowful look. "People," he said. "Humans only. It lasts until sunrise… or until she succeeds in killing someone."

Merlin knocked his elbow on the edge of the table, lifting it to rest his forehead on his hand. For the family to know that detail meant… "How many?"

"Three," Gaius said tiredly. "After the young couple that lived next to the family died, Eilura was confined to the cage, for her safety as well as for others – you can imagine the uproar the incident caused, especially in a sizeable city. They searched for some time for a solution, a cure, but when she broke free of her prison in the form of the creature and killed one of the city guards, they were banished on pain of death. The druids advised them to try us here in Camelot."

Merlin lifted his head. "Us?" he asked around the lump in his throat.

"I promised we would do whatever we could for the girl," Gaius said, avoiding the question, and Merlin's gaze. "There is nothing to be done, tonight, but tomorrow perhaps, research will yield a useful solution. If we can identify the curse – or the beast – perhaps we can find a counter-spell." He pushed himself up from his seat to select one of his volumes and thumb through it.

Merlin let his head drop back to his hand, feeling the moisture from the rain begin to trickle down toward his wrist, the cuff of his sleeve. Against the back of his eyelids he saw the ragged wild girl crouched inside the iron cage. Protected and hidden by the oiled cloth, the storm would further conceal the sights and sounds of such a transformation from the rest of the townspeople. For tonight. "They can't stay there," he said aloud.

Gaius grunted his agreement. "I will speak to Uther first thing tomorrow morning. Perhaps she can be placed in one of the cells."

Merlin had been in one of the cells before, himself. Bad enough, when you knew the prince was your ally, the incarceration temporary. For a young girl, for Eilura… he pictured her again, reactive and wary. She'd not spoken, but growled and clawed. He wondered how much she understood of her situation.

"Maybe the side courtyard," he suggested. "The archery range?" It was a relatively quiet corner of the citadel, overlooked by Arthur's quarters and the currently-empty guest chamber, which maybe could be used by Eilura's family. None of the servants or courtiers had business there, and if the archers could be assigned elsewhere for their training and practice… "Uther is never going to agree to this," he said, dropping his hand again to look at his mentor. "He's going to hear magic and murder and order Arthur and the knights to escort the whole family to the border, if he doesn't order Eilura executed outright."

Gaius gazed at him as he thought, one bushy white eyebrow drawn austerely upward. "I will have to persuade the king that it would be better for everyone to keep the girl here, under our observation and control," he said. "I will have to persuade him to allow us the time to find a solution before he takes matters into his own hands." He looked down at the book blankly for a moment, then turned a page.

Arthur as king, Merlin thought, wouldn't hesitate to offer aid and shelter for the whole family, knights to guard them as long as necessary. Arthur as king would be generous with his resources; he trusted Merlin's magic, Merlin wouldn't have to wait for Gaius to argue for permission for him to – a thought struck him like a gloved fist to the middle of his stomach, breathtaking and nauseating.

"Gaius," he managed. "The family – who did they come to see?" Had they been told to seek Gaius as the court physician, for a _curse_? Or –

"Merlin," the old man said, with a compassionate logic, "an affliction of this nature will almost certainly require magic to reverse."

He nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat and not succeeding. He was used to people traveling distances to reach Camelot and Gaius for medical solutions, hoping Uther's court physician could provide a potion or elixir or poultice to ease their injuries or infirmities. But this was the first time someone had come for him. For his magic.

…..*…..

Arthur's steps slowed as he reached the open archway leading to the side courtyard where the archery butts waited, empty today, the space being put to another use entirely. He had come from rearranging the guard schedule, to see that the contingent of four assigned to relocate and remain with the barred cart holding Gaius' newest patient was an addition to the rotation of men inside the citadel.

He and Morgana had been forbidden to come within twenty feet of the cage, or the family sequestered in the guest chambers overlooking the courtyard, as if the effects of the affliction could be communicated from person to person, though the court physician had assured them it wasn't so. He rather thought his father would have liked to escort all of them from Camelot's borders immediately – they weren't citizens, after all, but had traveled from a foreign city to the south – but for Gaius' claim that they would be unlikely to find a cure elsewhere. Uther would just as soon have such a potential threat under observation and guard in the middle of his stronghold, as wandering the countryside in search of aid.

Arthur paused in the shadow of the arch, next to the lounging figure of the guard meant to keep people out. The man, expression hidden behind the noseguard of his conical helmet, straightened as he recognized his prince.

"Anything to report?" Arthur said, already looking beyond him into the secluded area. A small table had been placed in the shadow of the outer wall, camp stools around it where the other three could follow orders in ease and comfort; two were seated there, gaming with dice in a cup, he guessed from their movements. But instead of one standing figure providing a more direct watch upon the cart's unlucky inhabitant, there were two men there. One was moving, rather than keeping a fixed post, pacing back and forth along the length of the cart.

"No, sire," the guard answered, then checked himself and gestured uncertainly, "except, the physician's apprentice –"

Merlin's rangy stride spoke of contained tension, rather than lazy freedom. He had one arm wrapped around his ribs, hand tucked under his other arm, his free hand raised to pinch his lip pensively, his face set in intense thought. And they were not easy thoughts, judging by his expression and bearing.

"Has full access to the patient," Arthur answered, and the guard nodded relieved confirmation as he left the archway.

Crossing the grass, Arthur turned his attention from his friend to the girl in the cage. Her body was wrapped in a blanket, pinned and secured with cheap twine at the waist; Morgana in an earlier visit prompted by curiosity and compassion had initially protested this form of attire as barbarically inappropriate for a young girl, until persuaded of its rather pathetic practicality. Curled on the clean straw, she was mostly lying down, but for one elbow propping head and shoulders upright. This much of her body followed Merlin's progress with the consuming focus of a hunting cat.

He stopped just inside the twenty-foot limit prescribed by his father. The other three guards acknowledged him with glances or nods, but the girl and the sorcerer didn't appear to notice him at all until he spoke. "Any luck?"

Merlin lifted his head to gaze at him blankly, taking a few moments to return from wherever his thoughts had taken him, and broke his pattern of pacing to join Arthur. He turned when he reached him to stare at the girl, who relaxed down onto her straw, pillowing her head on her arms.

"Gaius has identified the cause," Merlin said. "But not the cure."

"You're not researching with him?" Arthur said. The younger man twitched his shoulders, and didn't answer. "So what happened to her?" he added; quite often his friend could be coaxed from this sort of rare melancholy introspection by the invitation to lecture Arthur on some obscure detail of magic.

"Ancient chroniclers speak of a heinous curse," Merlin said, unknowingly obliging his intention. "It dooms its victims to turn at the stroke of midnight into a vicious, bloodthirsty beast. The writers of old called this creature a bastet, a monster of nightmare that inhabits the twilight world between the living and the dead. The form of the creature lasts until dawn." He glanced at Arthur. "Or until she kills."

Arthur controlled his reaction with an effort. _Curse_ had not been mentioned; those present at the early audience requested by the court physician had been led to believe the patient with the rare condition with serious and violent symptoms precipitating these necessary precautions had come seeking his medical expertise. _Change_ and _bastet_ were also problematic, though a nocturnal event was likelier to remain undisclosed. He supposed he'd have to speak with the men scheduled for the night-watch.

"Who cursed her?" He congratulated himself on the evenness of his tone, before he realized that the grip of his hand on the hilt of his sword gave him away to the younger man.

Merlin shook his head. "Happened outside Camelot's borders," he murmured. "Uther will never let you go."

Arthur grunted; so much for his idea of providing what aid he could render, by dealing justice to whoever had caused the girl's condition. "But I'm sure that Gaius will-"

"Arthur," Merlin said, "medicine will not fix this." He gestured to the girl in the cage to add emphasis to the bleak statement.

"Magic, then?" Arthur said.

A line of apprehensive concentration appeared between Merlin's brows. "I don't know," he said with unhappy honesty. "This curse – it's a witch's curse. Visited by one female upon another, and it's _strong_. I don't know if _I_…" He spread his arms and shrugged.

Arthur looked at the girl, curled in on herself like an animal, but with eyes open and alert, and refrained from wording the joke that occurred to him, to suggest that his friend was feminine enough to lift the curse. He thought fleetingly of Morgana, of the priestesses at their isle – but no, Uther would never allow it.

"Besides," Merlin continued more slowly, "the transformation is only supposed to last from midnight to sunrise. Eilura's father said, at the beginning, she was herself after sunrise. Exhausted, of course, as the creature doesn't sleep at night, but unaffected in thinking and feeling and everyday abilities."

They watched her shuffle around in the straw, heedless of the blanket providing modesty, or the state of hair or skin. "So what changed?" Arthur said.

"After she killed," Merlin said softly, "they said it was different. That she began to – lose herself. Now she doesn't speak or appear to understand when other people do… Arthur, I'm not sure if lifting the curse is going to be possible. Or enough. And even if it is, if we can manage to bring her back, she's killed three people. How does a young girl ever live a normal life after going through something like this?"

Arthur clapped a hand gently on his friend's shoulder, wishing he could shoulder some of the younger man's burden, knowing he could only understand a small part of it. "Anything you can do for her," he told Merlin, "is going to be better than this."

…..*…..

Merlin spent the rest of the afternoon in the grassy side courtyard, the busy sounds of the citadel and the lower town filtering only faintly over thick twenty-foot-high walls. Eilura dozed, periodically opening one eye or the other to check on his presence. He sat on the grass, arms wrapped around his knees, lost in the glare and heat of the sun, immersed in a sensitive exploration of the magic that coursed around and through the girl.

This, he felt, was a better way for him to spend his time today. Gaius would work and study and make notes and check them and theorize from the books. His experience and knowledge were invaluable for research, that way. Merlin's magic, on the other hand, had often felt more instinctive, more intuitive. He needed to test and try, let his magic worry at the knot of malevolence that had so tangled the girl's spirit and body.

So far he'd only succeeded in rousing her twice – once to shake herself, stretch and roll over, once to snap and snarl and scratch her skin uncontrollably. He was afraid, to his very soul, that the transformation was now so deep it was irreversible.

At sunset, when she began to stir more actively within the cage, resisting and resentful, he returned to the physician's chambers. Gaius had a simple cold dinner waiting for him; Merlin could tell at a glance that the research was so far fruitless, and wordlessly straddled the bench to poke over his plate. The old man joined him, sighing as he settled into his seat. Merlin could feel his mentor's eyes on him, but hadn't the energy to pretend interest in the food. Instead he turned sideways to let his gaze roam the room, and was surprised to note that Gaius' books were all neatly shelved.

"No counter-spell exists," the old physician told him, his stern academic tone all but disguising his own exhaustion and sympathy. "I found an incomplete account of a study done on this particular curse two generations ago, postulating that it would affect individuals differently, according to levels of self-control and innate urges, that sort of thing. The author indicated hope for the afflicted if –" He held up one finger to check the emotion the word _hope_ probably brought to Merlin's expression. "If the patient could be treated within hours. If the first transformation could be prevented, and if the patient never killed while in the beast's form."

Merlin sagged back. "But it's – been months, for Eilura," he said. "Every night… and three deaths."

"Indeed," Gaius said.

"You're saying, we can do nothing for her?" Merlin said. "What about a potion to suppress the symptoms – or at least some charm like Morgana's bracelet, to keep her asleep while in the cat's form? There must be something we can do to help her during the daytime at least –"

Gaius was shaking his head before Merlin finished. "That would only work on a human person, Merlin," he said. "Eilura is more creature than girl now, I fear."

"But there are spells for commanding or controlling creatures, too," Merlin said, searching his memory.

The old physician held up one hand. "I have researched that as well," he said. "Such a curse, feeding on and strengthened by her life-force, would require a strong sorcerer to hold a controlling spell constantly, from the hours of midnight to sunrise, every night, and much as I hate to say it, that is simply not a wise use of anyone's strength. It wouldn't prevent the transformation, or give this family back their daughter and sister in the daylight."

"What do we tell them, then?" Merlin muttered. "What do I tell them?"

…..*…..

Arthur stood at his window, his weight centered on one leg, his arms crossed over his chest, gazing down into the archery range. His chamber darkened slowly, the candles left unlit so his view through the tiny diamond-shaped panes of his window, closed against early-autumn chill, would be unimpeded as the world turned slowly to midnight. He wondered if the family was keeping vigil from the guest quarters beneath him, or if the transformation was a sight they avoided.

He shifted his weight; if he leaned into the casement, he could see the dark shadow that marked Merlin's position at the edge of the torchlight. The four guards had retreated in anticipation of the violent symptoms Gaius had explained only vaguely, and he'd warned them about with a bit more detail, but they had orders to let the patient well enough alone unless her escape, however unlikely, seemed somehow imminent.

Arthur waited – with Merlin, although his friend had no way of knowing that – watching. If the young sorcerer was doing nothing, it meant that there was nothing that could be done, at least for now. He knew Merlin, knew how such a conclusion would affect the younger man.

Time passed slowly.

He propped himself in the narrow window ledge uncomfortably, and pondered the advisability of joining Merlin on the grassy yard beneath. He was beginning to think of surrendering the vigil in favor of his wide soft bed behind him, when Merlin's shadow stood and moved across the grass. Arthur watched him, watched the girl halt her stooped pacing to focus on him, to kneel and reach one arm between the bars in a mix of pleading gesture and clawing menace.

Merlin's slender silhouette stopped six feet from the cage, his feet set, his hands at his side, but even at the distance and angle, Arthur could see the preparatory tension in his stance. Merlin could have been speaking, could have been doing magic, could have been waiting silently, it was impossible to see. The standing guard took several respectful and cautious steps backward toward his fellows, attentive in the shadow of the wall.

The girl retreated to the center of the cage. Her hunched body shuddered; he couldn't tell if she was snarling or weeping, but in the blink of an eye her hands on the straw, her face behind the curtain of tangled hair had _shifted_. He blinked again to clear his vision, and she seemed at once to huddle in on herself, and to expand. She shook once more, as a wet dog shakes itself dry – and the girl was gone.

The cage barely contained the gleam of black fur, gray claw, white fang. Arthur found himself gripping the sides of the casement, mouth dry and heart pounding. As the creature attempted to turn in its confinement, a long dark tail lashed between the bars, various pointed edges of wings that made Arthur think of Merlin's dragons protruded.

Merlin hadn't moved except to raise his hands a few inches, open and unthreatening at his sides. He seemed intent on the girl-creature's face, eyes – fangs and whiskers bristled at him from the cage in the torchlight.

Then the young sorcerer did something that had Arthur's pounding heart leaping into his throat. He stepped forward, raising his hand in a clear request for contact. Arthur wanted to open his window, bellow down at his friend not to be an idiot - but feared to interrupt whatever idiotic idea Merlin was attempting.

It looked to be inches, only, between Merlin's outstretched hand and the cat-creature's nose, when the beast gave a roar that was audible, even through closed windows, and one of the bars of the cage snapped in the middle. Immediately ignoring Merlin, the winged cat twisted around to the vulnerable gap, the whole cart shaking with its intensity of effort.

Merlin darted around to the side, dodging a flying piece of a second broken bar, just as the great black head pushed out, snarling and squirming.

Arthur's hand flew to the window latch – now he really would holler at Merlin to get back, _get back, idiot_! - the cart lurched, tipped, smashed in an exploding tangle of broken and bent iron. Merlin was flung backward, and the beast gave a leap, the wings snapping out to carry it airborne.

Turning from the window, Arthur grabbed his sword-belt from the table in his room on the way to the door, growling under his breath. He didn't bother trying to buckle it around his waist, and when he heard the warning bell begin to sound, he wasn't surprised. He increased his pace.

The courtyard wasn't nearly as chaotic as it had been the night Sigan's soul had possessed Cedric the thief. Guards rushed to light more torches, knights assembled as they readied upon hearing the bell, peering into the darkness overhead, shouting and pointing. Arthur took a deep breath and began issuing orders, sending detachments to strategic points in the lower town, establishing look-outs to protect the citadel. If she had broken free to hunt instead of simply to escape, she'd stay in the area – and though they'd be hard-pressed to defend against an aerial threat –

"Crossbows!" Arthur bellowed, jabbing a finger at a passing guard to pin responsibility for fulfilling the order on him –

If they could prevent a killing until sunrise, they could recover the human girl from wherever she transformed.

A collective shout caught his attention, and the soft thudding of wings against air. In the darkness overhead shadow moved against shadow.

"Sire!" Leon said intensely, appearing at his elbow with a shield held ready for him to slide his arm into. Thus equipped, Arthur ran forward across the cobblestones as the black shape dropped into one corner, batting at an unwary guard and sending the man tumbling.

"On me!" he thundered, and didn't need to glance back to know that half a dozen of his men had joined his rush in a phalanx formation, angling to protect the fallen guard in a limping retreat.

The black cat, standing at a height equal to Arthur's own, hissed and flattened ears and wings, both. One great paw darted forward, five-inch claws extended, and the man on his left ducked behind his shield, knocked back by the strength of the blow but unharmed. The next man closed ranks til his downed fellow could recover and take his place.

Arthur lunged, but the cat twisted, and his blade slid off the thick coarse fur without effect.

Above the sound of boots and claws on cobblestone, the clash of armor, the shouts of men and the growling snarls of the cat, Arthur heard Leon's voice again. "_Crossbowmen ready_!" The cat turned slightly, knocking over an enterprising young knight who'd tried to approach on his own on the left flank with its tail.

Arthur dragged air into his lungs, ducking and leaping back from another swipe. "On three!" he shouted back to Leon, and counted off the signal for the attack. When he reached _Three!_, his phalanx all dropped to one knee, raising shields, and a flight of arrows sang over their heads.

The winged cat screeched, a blood-chilling sound. Over the top edge of his shield he saw the creature – solid black against midnight-blue sky – rear back on her haunches, clawing at the air, the arrows. She batted and flattened the segmented parts of the phalanx, knocking men flat, opening gashes. Arthur darted forward, plunging his sword into the cat's shoulder, trying for a crippling rather than killing blow.

The cat turned, leaping for the top of the wall, clumsy and slow. Arthur saw that the sails of her wings were pierced and tattered. She flung herself upward, deadly claws scrabbling ineffectually to gain the top of the wall, the crippled wings scattering blood-drops and sudden gusts of air through half the courtyard. Unable to escape, the beast dropped and whirled on them again, hissing and furious with pain.

Arthur's heart fell. How long had they fought, minutes only, maybe? How could they keep this up until dawn without losing a man?

"Fall back!" he called, giving ground. Perhaps they could simply keep her cornered. Wild plans of finding netting or shooting arrows attached to binding ropes over and across her flashed through his mind, but he concluded that their best bet was simply to reach safety themselves, now that she could not fly or climb to escape.

But the creature was too maddened to quit the fight. She leaped – limped – forward, twice as fierce, careless now of her own wellbeing. Two more knights were sent flying by the massive paws, one to roll and regain his feet, the other to land heavily and awkwardly. She immediately pounced.

Arthur was faster. He sprinted forward, leaping over the fallen knight and stabbing the great black paw, in and out, fast as fast, and he kept running, aware that he'd left the protection of the formation and drawn the beast's attention upon himself alone.

"Arthur!" He heard his name but didn't slow – if he could reach the wall with his shield, he could crouch at the base of one and angle the other for a small brief shelter. Then if the others attacked, he could use the moment of the cat's inattention to dart away again.

He never reached cover.

The buffet felt a soft but strong blow, knocking him forward – the claws stabbed through shirt and jacket in a fiery row along the right side of his back. He lost his footing and rolled, coming up hard against the base of the wall empty-handed. The black mass loomed – eyes glared, teeth gleamed – the wounded paw lifted for a crushing, killing blow. He was too close, too vulnerable; the knights could not distract her from him in time.

"Arthur!" He heard Merlin, heard the threatening grind of crumbling masonry, _felt_ the reverberations in the wall behind him and brought his arms up to shield his head.

There was no time even to draw in breath. The cat-creature yowled in agony cut short, and a substantial weight slammed into the courtyard floor. A single pained whimper squeezed from a body the size of a horse.

Arthur panted in the close circle of his arms, one sleeve fluttering slightly against his face, but nothing further happened. He lifted his head.

Beyond the ringing in his ears he could hear the voices of his men, of Leon, calling to one another and to him. And between the dreadful commotion of the rest of the courtyard and the still black mass of the beast's body, stood Merlin. His hand was still slightly raised, his eyes on the creature. There was blood on his face, Arthur saw in the torchlight, and tears.

He pushed himself stiffly to his feet. His neck and his back throbbed, but functioned without much protest.

A great chunk of stone, pieces broken and scattered on the cobblestones, lay next to the great head, perfectly still, the eyes closed invisibly in the thick black fur. He glanced up; the statue perched on the wall high above them was missing its head.

Arthur eased his feet under the limp spread of blood-streaked wing, making his way around the body to reach Merlin's side, and put his hand on his friend's shoulder in gratitude and apology, both. "We weren't fighting to kill," he said softly.

"She was," Merlin answered. His face held its mask of blank impassivity a moment longer, then cracked in wordless agony.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder to see the body of the girl, small and white in the dim flickering torchlight. Broken and vulnerable in the unforgiving stone of the courtyard and destroyed statue. From the row of shocked and injured defenders, Leon stepped forward with a crimson knight's cloak. Arthur met him and took the garment, turning to spread it across the girl, covering the delicate innocence of her form, the blood. He could feel his own trickling warmly down his skin under his shirt.

"Walk me to Gaius," he said to Merlin. "Leon can handle things here." He caught the knight's eye, and Leon nodded.

"No, I should stay," Merlin answered softly. "I need to –"

"No," Arthur interrupted firmly. He reached to the back of his friend's neck, tangling his fingers in Merlin's hair. He gripped it to give him a little shake, finally gaining his attention. "No, you do not. Let someone else, this time."

After a moment, the sorcerer nodded silent acquiescence, and they turned to the great stair together.

…..*…..

Merlin sat quietly by the table, under the high window in the main chamber of the physician's quarters. It looked over the lower town, as did the window in his own little bedchamber, around the tower toward the north, but sitting below it, he could see nothing but sky. He watched it lighten by degrees. It was almost sunrise.

The door opened, and after a pause, closed again. He didn't have to look to know it was Gaius.

"Uther was very angry?" he said in a low voice, finding he didn't much care about the king's ire.

"Of course," Gaius said, keeping his words soft as well. "His sleep was interrupted by the warning bell, his favorite courtyard statue beheaded, his son's life endangered. But… the only life lost was…"

"A life that was already lost," Merlin said.

He felt Gaius behind him, very close, then the old man's hand gentle against the side of his face that wasn't scratched and bruised from the stray piece of metal he hadn't managed to avoid when Eilura broke free from her prison. Gaius drew him into an awkward but heartfelt hug, and he relaxed against the old man for a moment.

"Was her family angry?" he asked wistfully.

Gaius released him, stepping where he could see him, if he took his eyes from the little rectangle of sky. "No, my boy, they were not angry," he said. "Grieved, yes. But this ending of the curse brings comfort, of a sort. They'll leave Camelot today." He'd have to speak with them before they departed. Apologize. "How is Arthur?" Gaius asked.

Merlin turned then to look at the prince, sleeping facedown on the patient's bed. Shirtless and bandaged, boots dangling off the foot of the bed, blonde hair mussed by the restlessness caused by the discomfort of his injuries. His mouth had dropped open – he'd be snoring, Merlin thought, if he was on his back.

"It wasn't too bad," he told his mentor. "Four cuts, the shortest only an inch, the longest only three. I stitched them, honey and yarrow."

"He didn't have to stay here, then," Gaius commented.

"I told him that." Merlin shook his head, feeling the old man's gaze on him.

"And how are you, Merlin?" Gaius said directly.

He watched the clean white bandages rise and fall, gently and evenly, with Arthur's breathing. "I know I can't save everyone," he said. "But… knowing that doesn't stop me wishing I could."

"That is… a fine attitude, Merlin." He was startled into looking at Gaius by the tone of pride in the old man's voice. "A wise attitude, I do believe. Your magic is a gift, my boy, and it impresses me daily how much of that gift you give away to others, freely and generously. It does you credit to want to do more, but don't ever lose sight of how much good you've already done, young as you are." Merlin stared at him, astonished, and the old man covered a smile with a forbiddingly raised brow. "Now," Gaius added, "you haven't slept more than a wink in two nights. Go to your bed and sleep."

At the mere mention of the word, Merlin's shoulders and eyelids seemed to sag with exhaustion. He mumbled some reply of agreement and intended obedience and headed for the three stairs leading to the door of his bedchamber, pausing as his mentor spoke again.

"Because… we are behind on our usual duties, and I will have rather a lot for you to do later today."

Merlin looked back at the old physician, caught a brief twinkle of humor in the practicality of his statement, and it made him feel better. Tragedy was a part of life, but then… life carried on for those who remained.

He sprawled across the blanket covering his bed without removing his clothes, and closed his eyes as the sky outside his window lightened with the dawn of a new day.

**A/N: Before anyone asks, I ship Freylin! :D That's why I **_**didn't**_** include her in this ep, you see? And fyi, **_**ailuros**_** is the Greek word for cat…**


	20. Sweet Dreams

**2:10 Sweet Dreams**

"Leon," Merlin said in a tone of idle curiosity. "Was this your idea, or the king's?" He glanced over at the knight, red-cloaked and helmeted, standing guard near the drawbridge but on the inside of the courtyard with pike ready in his hand, in time to catch a rare smile.

"It was discussed," Leon allowed.

What surprised Merlin wasn't the fact that Uther didn't fully trust the four other kings that had been invited to the peace talks centralized in Camelot. Where kings met, mistrust was only common sense. What surprised him was the fact that Uther evidently trusted _him_, to watch the arriving strangers for any hint of magic, malignant or benign, in use or residing in artifacts carried with them. It was the first part of his duty this week – the second was of course, as always, protecting the heir to Camelot's throne from intentional or accidental harm.

Merlin leaned against the wall just behind Leon, glad that they were stationed in a patch of sunlight, at least, halfway through autumn. Glad he wasn't Arthur, dressed in full crown-prince finery, entertaining guests and visitors that would have him under constant scrutiny as the heir of the kingdom. Glad he wasn't…

"That one has magic," he said to Leon, pushing upright.

"Which?"

"The one with the striped trousers." He watched the king next to the sorcerer dismount, dropping a fur-lined mantle negligently on the cobblestones.

"Alined's court sorcerer," Leon answered. They watched the king snap at the man, watched him cower like a kicked dog, gathering up the mantle. "He was expected; I heard he's going to be performing at the welcome banquet tonight." Merlin felt something curl unpleasantly in his stomach at the word _performing_.

The next monarch was close behind Alined's retinue, wearing royal purple with his fur and gold crown. A dainty blonde beauty in a seafoam-green dress allowed Arthur to help her down from an equally eye-catching white horse. The king – her father, Merlin supposed – boomed out, "What kind of welcome is this? You have us hanging around like the last swallows of summer!"

Uther took his hand, his expression showing only pleasant courtesy from across the courtyard, his response too quiet for Leon and Merlin to hear.

"That's Olaf," Leon said in a conversational way. Merlin pulled the name from a long-ago memory, of Arthur drawing an invisible map on the ground in the mouth of the cave below Dinas Emrys. "Arthur's uncle Tristan made a treaty with him in the northwest, before his death almost four years ago."

"Is that his daughter?" Merlin said, squinting across the sunlit expanse. No ladies had traveled with the other kings.

"The Lady Vivian," Leon said.

"They're the last, then," Merlin commented. Across the courtyard, Uther escorted his latest guests up the wide stair, but Arthur lingered, looking across at them, clearly waiting for him.

"Take your time," Leon advised, as Merlin took his first quick step. "No one will mind Uther being cautious, but ostentatious measures could be offensive."

Merlin understood. The presence of a sorcerer in the court of Camelot was surely no secret any longer, but he needed to be circumspect and unobtrusive, as always. Not hidden, just… overlooked. He waited a moment longer, until Olaf and Vivian had disappeared, then sauntered calmly across the cobblestones to Arthur, who was tugging uncomfortably at the full-length crimson cloak he hardly ever wore.

"You look very distinguished," Merlin teased him when he was close enough. "Who are you trying to impress?"

Arthur's lip curled. "Oh, I don't know – five kings in the same room, perhaps?"

Merlin didn't try to control his grin. "Not a king's daughter?"

The prince snorted. "Anyone trying to impress the Lady Vivian does so at extreme peril. Olaf would have their head in a vat of hot oil before they had a chance to say hello." He turned to begin climbing the stairs. "Besides, she's not my type. She may be beautiful, but she's incredibly rude."

"I'll be sure to keep my distance, then," Merlin said, only half-kidding now. Uther's toleration would only go so far if Merlin managed to insult a guest, and the royal gratitude for past services he'd rendered could be conveniently forgotten if something went seriously wrong.

Arthur glanced over at him with a curious look on his face. "Have you ever fancied a girl, Merlin?" he asked, in that tone halfway between ridicule and true interest that said he wanted an honest answer from Merlin rather than a joke, but that the conversation didn't necessarily need to remain serious for long.

"Not really," Merlin said. It would be one girl in a million to understand and accept his unusual background with druids and dragons, his illegitimate birth, and his unique responsibility to and bond with the prince of Camelot. He admired beauty as much as the next man, but knew he couldn't allow his feeling to go any further. "You'll find someone before I will, I'm sure."

Arthur's smile pulled sideways in a faint skepticism. "What makes you say that?"

Merlin shrugged as they reached the top of the stairs. "You're older than me," he pointed out.

The prince huffed at that response, but let it go. "I take it there was nothing to report?" he asked, heading toward a different corridor than the one Merlin intended to take, to return to his little bedroom off the physician's chamber.

"Nope," Merlin returned. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"I'll see you at the banquet, then," Arthur called over his shoulder.

…..*…..

At first, Arthur laughed as much as anyone, as much as Uther and Morgana. As much at the antics of the middle-aged jester as at the thought that immediately occurred to him when the man had appeared at the end of the parallel long tables – _I have got to figure out a way of getting that belled hat onto Merlin. _And when the jester put his head back to blow a great billow of fire from his mouth, Arthur couldn't help thinking of Merlin again. But.

He had the idea that the young black-haired druid would look _dangerous_, doing the same.

He was also quite sure Merlin would only do something like that in a situation that was uncontrollably dire. What, exactly, he couldn't quite decide, and didn't like to ponder.

"Now I have a spectacle for the ladies!" The jester tossed his arms outward, and a flock of blue butterflies erupted from the tattery patches on his clothing.

To dispel the faint embarrassment he felt, Arthur turned to look over his shoulder at Merlin, behind his chair instead of Gaius', as he provided an unspecified protection for the prince and the high table, alike. His friend's expression betrayed a similarly awkward feeling, however, and he no longer wanted to suggest that Merlin would look completely natural creating butterflies. It wasn't as funny as he first thought, the image of Merlin dressed and behaving so. Then his gaze slipped past the ridiculous figure skipping and dancing and waving, to the court physician at the far end of one of the long tables. Gaius was never one to let his amusement show aside from a quick ironic smile or a glint in his eye, but he seemed actually disapproving of the spectacle Alined's sorcerer was putting on.

And Arthur remembered with uneasy clarity, something Gaius had told him as they'd watched the young druid boy leave the knights' camp, just below Dinas Emrys, years ago. If Merlin had come to Camelot then, the old physician had predicted, Uther would make him an enemy… or a slave. He watched Trickler, and wondered how the middle-aged sorcerer had come into Alined's employ.

"It has mistaken you for a beautiful flower," the jester proclaimed in a loud effeminate voice, bringing his fingers out from Vivian's blond curls with a blue-winged butterfly clinging to them. She looked delighted, and enchanted, and applauded vigorously, the five kings nodding and laughing in approval, even her quick-tempered father.

Merlin murmured irreverently in Arthur's ear, "Seems someone has managed to impress my lady with impunity."

Arthur snorted and shook his head. He was _glad_ for Merlin's five years of backwoods freedom.

…..*…..

In the absence of more specific orders than a vague _help Leon with guard duties_, Merlin assumed that Arthur's daily schedule for the week of peace talks was also his schedule. He arrived at the prince's bedchamber door at the same time as breakfast did, and slipped into the room behind the kitchen attendant. The coverlet on the bed was smoothed, Arthur fully dressed at his window.

Merlin seated himself at the prince's table, eyeing the full tray that held plenty for both of them – though he'd definitely have to wait for Arthur before he started eating anything. "Good morning, sire," he yawned. His stomach growled.

"Never have you been more right, Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed.

Merlin grunted, almost offended by the other's early-morning cheer. And after such a late end to the banquet, too. "And never have you been more –"

His mumble was completely ignored, interrupted, as Arthur turned from the window. "It is the sunniest, the most fragrant, the most beautiful morning I've ever seen in my life!"

"You do realize what we have to look forward to today, don't you?" Merlin grouched. "Sitting through the council – well, you'll be sitting and I'll be on my feet all –"

"Today," Arthur announced, as if he hadn't heard the word _council_ at all, "my job is to woo."

"To what?" Merlin said blankly.

"To woo. I wish to make a proclamation of love." Arthur passed Merlin's seat at the table as if incapable of sitting still. "By the end of today, I will have won my lady."

"Lady?" Merlin said, pushing himself up from the table to take Arthur's place at the window that looked down upon the central courtyard. A feminine form dressed in seafoam-green was visible, ascending the main stair. "Vivian, you mean?" he said incredulously.

"She's even more beautiful today than yesterday, don't you agree?" Arthur sighed blissfully in his ear.

Merlin sighed and shook his head. Ye gods, it was far too early in the morning for jokes. "Pretty far to tell," he commented, then pushed the prince back so he could escape the window alcove. He yawned again, and stretched, collapsing back into the chair at the side of the table, the chair that wasn't Arthur's, and laid his head on the table.

"So," the prince continued, still not joining him to eat, "I need your help in expressing my feelings."

"Of course," Merlin mumbled against the wood of the table, not really listening. Not really in a mood for pranks – he thought he'd got quite enough of that during the magic performance the night before.

Arthur's hand slammed down on the table, making him jump upright, but the look on the prince's face was still a purely happy grin. "How do I express my feelings?" he demanded.

"Hells, Arthur," he said, irritated, "the same way as everybody else – just say them."

Arthur managed to glower through his sappy smile. "_Girls_," he reminded Merlin.

He let his head fall back to the table with a soft moan; it seemed like his friend wasn't letting him out of this madly ridiculous conversation so easily. "Girls," he repeated toward his boots.

"_Feelings_," Arthur repeated cheerfully.

"Flowers?" Merlin offered.

"Excellent!"

Merlin looked up to see Arthur yank open the door of his bedchamber and accost a passing maid, ordering that a bouquet of fresh flowers be taken to the Lady Vivian in his name. The prince fairly beamed as he turned back to Merlin. "Isn't that taking things a bit far?" Merlin asked.

"Nonsense," Arthur said, striding back across the room. He unlatched his window to swing it open, despite the chill of the drafty air. "I want to tell the world – I want to shout it across the kingdom."

Merlin lunged from his chair to slam the window shut. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?" he said, remembering the warnings both Leon and Arthur had given him the previous day. "What will your father say when he hears?" Not to mention, the lady's father… Arthur's joke would not be so funny, then.

"What does my father matter?" Arthur said airily.

"Well, that's one way of approaching things," he said sardonically. "Come off it, Arthur, you've had your fun – by now you should be able to tell I'm not falling for it."

Arthur looked at him as if seeing him for the first time that morning, and the geniality faded. "What do you mean?"

"All this, I love Vivian," Merlin said. "Just yesterday you told me she wasn't your type – incredibly rude, you –"

Arthur's hand interrupted him. It wasn't a hard blow, by any means, little more than a slap on the side of his face. Probably wouldn't even raise a red mark. But it shocked Merlin into immediate silence – Arthur never hit him before.

Arthur wouldn't hit him. _What the_ -

"Lady Vivian is your future queen," the prince declared darkly, pointing one finger into his face so emphatically Merlin found himself leaning back into the edge of the casement. "I will have your head if I hear such insolence again."

Echoes of other threats Arthur had made rippled through his memory, always carrying a tone of ironic amusement. That tone was absent. Merlin looked deep into the blue of Arthur's eyes, dark and angry as he'd never seen his friend, and said nothing. He was at a complete loss to explain such a swift change of moods – what had prompted Arthur's teasing to begin with, and why he should react so angrily when Merlin had refused to participate further.

As the prince spun and stalked from the room, the thought occurred to Merlin that Arthur's mood would not be improved by skipping his breakfast… but it failed to bring a smile to his face. He followed Arthur through the corridors until they reached the council chamber where the meeting of the five kings and their senior advisers was to be held, all day if necessary though short recesses would undoubtedly be called.

Arthur turned in the doorway so suddenly Merlin nearly ran into him. "That will be all, Merlin," he said coldly.

"But I'm meant to –"

"You are dismissed." Arthur signaled to the guard at the door with a single jerk of his head. The guard prepared to enforce the directive as Arthur turned his back on Merlin with cold finality.

He took a step backward into the hallway as the guards were given an order from within and the double doors were closed on the meeting. In the absence of a better plan of action, he turned his steps toward the physician's chambers, and Gaius. The Lady Vivian, he thought bemusedly. Was Arthur serious, then? How could that have happened so suddenly?

Passing a cross-corridor, he glanced up absently, and nearly tripped himself. From the end of that hall, the lady herself was coming toward him, in company with Morgana. A barrage of memories struck – another girl with long blonde hair, another profession of love, startling fast. Ominously fast. _Love at first sight? – I suppose it might be… Morgana had a dream… You've enchanted my son in order to gain access to the throne…_ Arthur's sullen antipathy toward himself, otherwise so inexplicable – _I ordered you… leave me… who are you to tell me what I'm thinking? _

_ I'm your friend. She's cast a spell on you. You're enchanted._

All ye gods at once, not _again_. Merlin heaved a sigh. Well, Arthur would be safely restricted in the council chamber… unless he decided to make his proclamation to the world there. Though all he'd probably be in danger of, then, was humiliation. Or betrothal, Merlin supposed, he wasn't entirely sure how the gathered royalty would handle such a situation.

His best bet was to focus on the lady herself. Perhaps if he had an idea how she'd managed the enchantment, he could arrive at a solution before things got too far out of hand.

…..*…..

Arthur slumped in the chair to Uther's immediate left, paying absolutely no attention to the proceedings. Everyone seemed to speak at once, and no one seemed to have anything worth saying. His love's volatile and over-protective father was just across from him in purple and fur, but Arthur held his tongue and kept his eyes on the table, his head on his fist, daydreams swimming pleasantly through his mind.

It seemed a very short time – though any time at all was too long a delay in his opinion – before a break for the noon-meal was announced. Servants entered in a busy bustle, laying enormous trays piled high with food along the side table, and the men who'd been seated all morning took the opportunity to stand and wander and mingle. Still talking, though.

And no one was paying much attention to him.

Arthur's idea was sheer brilliance, and he implemented it without another second's consideration. Standing at the far end of the long row of rich and varied fare, he surreptitiously transferred a bit here and a spoonful there. Once he'd gathered enough for two on a smaller silver tray, he hid his secret with a large white napkin, and was let out through one of the double doors by an unwitting guard.

Sheer brilliance. He snagged a single long-stemmed red rose from a vase on a table in the hallway as he passed. _Flowers_. He felt a momentary pang for his treatment of Merlin, and resolved to forgive the younger man when he next saw him. As long as Merlin was respectful toward his love.

He knocked on the door of the guest room assigned to the Lady Vivian, and shifted his weight, impatient with the desire to fill his eyes with the vision of her face.

"Who is it?" her voice was muffled through the wood of her door.

"It is destiny, my love," he declared, then thought belatedly to check the corridor for anyone who could overhear and bear tales. "Destiny and… chicken."

…..*…..

Merlin had ducked around the corner the moment Arthur strode into view at the far end of the hall, having no desire for another confrontation with his enchanted friend. He figured he'd have to do something drastic to prevent the meeting – a sleeping spell, maybe? – between Arthur and Vivian, but if he could manage it without having to see that particular look of cold disdain directed toward him, he'd –

He hesitated. The door had slammed, but Arthur was still standing in the hallway. Vivian's _go away_ was vehemently clear, even to him at the end of the hall. What? The door opened again – what was Vivian's game? Here was Arthur, come to her as intended…

"Your love?" the blonde girl said scornfully, "Not now, nor ever." Over Arthur's feeble protest, she continued, "My father will kill you if he finds you here."

Arthur declared grandly, "Your father does not worry me."

"You won't say that when he's running at you with a knife in his hand," Vivian assured him with casual impatience. "I've seen it before."

_Really_? Merlin thought. In the hallway, Arthur said, "_Really_?"

Vivian slammed the door on her emphatic, "Yes!"

Arthur stared at the wood. "Just five minutes?" he pleaded, forlorn as a child.

Merlin sighed and stepped around the corner. Whatever the hell was going on, he'd heard enough to conclude that Vivian wasn't responsible. She wanted nothing to do with Arthur, and while it was highly likely his feelings weren't _real_, they were obviously _hurt_.

"My lord, I don't think your advances are welcome," he said to Arthur, as kindly and gently as he could.

Vivian's squawk was muffled by the closed door. "Go away and take your chicken with you!"

The prince turned stiffly away without looking at Merlin. "I don't know what gives you that impression," he said. He held the tray out to the side almost without thinking in a wordless command, and Merlin lifted it off his hand, trailing to a stop as the prince continued.

There was the noon meal skipped, then, too. Merlin lifted one corner of the napkin to sniff curiously at the romantic offering Arthur had brought his lady – _the beans are a little cold, but the meat is quite good_ – and sighed. How, how had this happened? So suddenly, it almost seemed over…

Overnight.

Merlin spun on his heel to head back to Arthur's bedchamber, hoping a good search might provide some clue to the enchantment. He left the napkin-covered dish on Arthur's table next to the untouched breakfast tray. At least the prince would have a good selection if he returned to his bedchamber hungry.

An hour later, hot and breathless and annoyed and cobwebby, Merlin made his way back to the quarters he shared with Gaius, a twist of yellow hair clutched in his fist. He turned a corner just as another person at the far end of the hall was entering another room; he caught a glimpse of yellow striped trousers and grimaced. Probably Alined's sorcerer – Trickler, he was called, what sort of name was that? A pet's name – never had to deal with magical threats to his kingdom. Merlin stalked on, wondering what his life would be like if all he was ever required to do was breathe fire and conjure butterflies.

Butterflies. And the jester's hand reaching right into Vivian's mass of blonde curls.

Merlin stopped outside the closed door Trickler had passed through and glared at the wood. He wanted to storm in, demand explanations and reparations – but he couldn't. The other sorcerer was attached to foreign royalty; such an accusation might easily overturn the peace talks entirely. His responsibility was to Arthur.

Gaius looked up from the book open on his desk in front of him as he slammed the door shut behind him. "You aren't with Arthur," the old man observed mildly.

"Arthur's in love," Merlin informed him. "Again." Gaius sat back as he stalked across the room and laid the lock of hair down on the open book with maybe a little more force than was strictly necessary. "Trickler," he said sourly to his mentor's raised eyebrow. "Though why he would want Arthur to fall in love with Vivian is beyond me."

The old physician picked up the lock, and the stem holding the circle of convex glass he used for enlarging the details of whatever he desired to examine. "An advance by Arthur would be a sure-fire way to ruin the peace conference." Gaius glanced up at him. "Maybe Alined wants war," he added darkly.

Merlin couldn't stand still, and began to pace. "Without creating it himself," he suggested.

Gaius grunted agreement. "It's the sort of cowardly behavior you would expect from him," he commented. Merlin twitched his shoulders; he'd never met the king before, couldn't remember ever hearing the name, even. "Cowardly but clever," Gaius concluded. He set the examining glass and the lock of hair down and stepped to his shelf of books.

Merlin joined him, knowing at least one of the volumes his mentor was looking for; he'd been through it when trying to find a solution for Uther's enchantment by the troll pretending to be Catrina. "We need to find a way of turning Arthur back to normal," he said grimly, selecting the one he remembered.

Gaius gave him two more books. "As soon as possible."

Merlin poured over the books at the table until his neck and back developed three distinct knots of aching tension, then took them up the stairs to his bedchamber. Perhaps a change of position might prompt some brilliant idea, he told himself, propping the books open on his pillow and stretching his length on the bed.

"Merlin."

He jerked his head up, smelling and feeling the ancient page his cheek had rested upon, blinking to bring the words back into focus, and realized the room was too dim for him to see. He groaned, speaking to light his few candles, then gripped the binding of the book open on top of his stack, letting his legs flop over the edge of his bed as he raised to a sitting position. "Did you know, there are over six hundred thirty-six love spells in these books, and over one hundred fifty of them involve a lock of hair?"

Gaius moved from his position just inside Merlin's bedroom door to sit on the narrow bed beside him. "Is there no way we can narrow them down a bit?"

"I have," Merlin protested facetiously. "Look." He pointed to the left-hand page. "If I choose this one and it's wrong, Arthur will end up as a toad." He moved his hand to the opposite side of the book. "And if this one's wrong, Vivian will lose all her hair."

"Olaf might not declare war for that, but she certainly would," Gaius said, allowing some humor. Merlin grunted, and flipped through another few pages. "Dinner's waiting," the old man added, pushing himself up from Merlin's bed.

"Is it that late already?" he asked, following his mentor from the small back room, the book still open on his hands. "Wait, Gaius – I think this is it."

"Are you sure?" Gaius asked, passing the table and instead going to his desk. "You're not going to turn Arthur into a hunch-backed camel or a horny-eyed toad?"

Merlin laid the book on the table in the middle of the dishes laid out, and gave the old man a quick grin. "I'll save that for another day. By far the most love-spells are meant to make the subject fall for the caster, but this is one for interference by a third party…" He leaned on his hands on the table without sitting, continuing to read. "As long as only one-half of the couple is enchanted, there's a counter-spell to break the enchantment."

"Vivian's not enchanted to be in love with Arthur, is she?" Gaius said, seating himself behind his desk.

"No." Merlin traced the words of the charm, mouthing them briefly to familiarize himself with the pronunciation and commit them to memory. "At least, she wasn't this afternoon." Taking his eyes from the book, he noticed that the table held only one place setting – no steam rose from the food, and the gravy had long congealed. He drew back, alarmed, glancing about to see how many candles were lit in the main room, and the shutter already closed on the window. "Gaius – it's past dinnertime. How late is it?"

"An hour and a half past sunset," the old man told him.

Merlin gasped, "How could you have let me sleep so long?" whirling to the door. He cursed himself, leaping down the stairs from the physician's quarters in the tower – how could he have let himself fall asleep? Arthur's words repeated themselves in his head, _By the end of today, I will have won my lady… by the end of today… by the end_…

Merlin went first to the banquet hall, slipping in through the servant's entrance and scanning the assembled crowd for either blonde head. The crowned heads, he noted, were gathered near the high table, set up for a signing, it looked like, with the white linen tablecloths folded aside to make way for the parchment and ink necessary. Uther was also looking for someone – Arthur, Merlin supposed. Alined wandered closer to the Pendragon king to make some comment, and Uther glanced over his shoulder at Olaf, who noticed the look.

_Damn_.

Merlin ducked back through the servants' door, and didn't stop sprinting the halls until he reached Arthur's chamber, yanking open the door without knocking, far from caring about propriety or the prince's current mood. All dark, bed empty and still made up for the day. "Arthur?" he said, checking to make sure. "Arthur!" No response. He skidded back to the hallway, considering – if enchanted Arthur was not in his bedchamber, where would he - "Nonono!" he repeated breathlessly, leaping down another stairway and turning another corner.

And stopped at the sight of two purple-garbed guards outside the chamber door Arthur had knocked on, earlier that day. One leaned on his halberd, the other shifted his weight, both the very picture of boredom. So – no Arthur here. Where, then, where?

…..*…..

The first thing Arthur had noticed upon his return to his room was the single rose, still laid across the top of the white napkin covering the lunch he'd intended to share with his love. Cold and wilted, he thought with a pleasant pang of melancholy, and found himself wishing he'd not been so rude to Merlin. "Say it," he said aloud in the empty room, to his absent friend, "you do not think I should pursue my love."

No. It was unthinkable. A Pendragon did not admit defeat – not in war or in love.

He left his room, making sure to pass the hall-vase for a fresh rose, but stopped short in the hall leading to the lady's room. Guards. He slipped the rose behind his back and re-considered tactics. He'd gotten past guards before, and he was determined that nothing would keep him from his love. She was the moon, and he was the tide, and he would fight past any number of obstacles to… no. He turned and directed his steps downward and outward.

This citadel was his home, and there was more than one way to get into that chamber, after all.

The central courtyard was dark enough to conceal himself in the shadow, but not yet so black as to make his intention impossible. Briefly considering where he might carry the rosebud as he made the climb to the princess' balcony, he decided he might as well be as romantic as possible, and took the stem into his teeth. The stone was cool to the touch, the night breeze refreshing, the light visible from the curtained window above him enticing, intoxicating. It couldn't have been more perfect, he thought, pausing to sigh around the taste of the rose stem, unless his love were to appear, to lean down to him and say –

"Come. Down. At. Once."

He blinked. The balcony remained empty, and that voice had sounded much more like his father than his love. He glanced down at the circle of men and torches below him, and though they weren't physically between him and his lady, he knew this was another obstacle to face.

He reversed his progress, then dropped to the cobblestones ready to defend his love.

…..*…..

Merlin remained silent as he seated himself at the table in Arthur's bedchamber, watching the prince lounge around the room, indifferent to the gravity of the situation in the midst of his enchanted bliss.

"It's no good," Uther declared, storming wrathfully into the room. "I've spoken to Olaf, he will not rescind the challenge. He says his honor has been tainted; he demands recompense."

Arthur slung himself about the column that separated the halves of his room, leaning against his grip on the circular support. "You didn't have to do that, Father," he said cheerfully.

"The fight is to the death," Uther said with reproving incredulity. "What did you think you were doing?"

The prince grinned at his father with boyish nonchalance. "You cannot help who you fall in love with," he declared.

Uther's back was to Merlin, so he couldn't see the king's reaction, but he seemed to stare at his son for some moments. "You do realize that your actions threaten the peace talks, and it may yet bring war to Camelot?"

Arthur shrugged, spinning about to skip across the floor. "I am happy to fight for what I believe in." They watched him take a flying leap and land sprawled on his bed.

Then Uther turned to Merlin, with a suddenness that made him jump. "What's happened to him?" the king said, exasperated.

Merlin made a decision, and hoped it was the right one. "He's enchanted," he said.

That sobered the king swiftly. "You're serious," he said, quite calmly.

He nodded, standing respectfully. "I am sorry, Your Majesty, but I only just discovered the counter-spell to lift the enchantment, and didn't reach Arthur in time to prevent… this."

Uther nodded, then shook his head, then began to pace. Behind him, Arthur continued to bounce on his bed like a carefree child. "Who?" the king said.

"Gaius and I suspect the magic was performed by Trickler," Merlin said cautiously.

The king grunted, his eyes still on the floor as he turned and strode back the other way. "Why did you not bring this to my attention immediately?"

Merlin took a deep breath. "The peace talks were successful, my lord?" he said. "The accord was signed tonight?"

Uther stopped midstep to give him a piercing look. "As a matter of fact, yes," he said. "But what does that have to do with…" he grimaced and waved a hand at Arthur, "this?"

"We feared to – interrupt the deliberations of your majesties, to bring the accusation of sorcery performed on your heir," Merlin said, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the king. If Olaf hadn't declared war on Uther, Uther surely would have on Alined, or both, or all…

Uther took a long moment to answer. "You would risk his life," he said in a tone Merlin could not read, "to allow a consensus of peace to be reached between our five kingdoms?"

Now that was a loaded question. Merlin said carefully, "I believe that Arthur would risk his own life to bring peace, my lord."

They both looked at Arthur – maybe Uther was hearing, as Merlin did, the prince's last words. _I am happy to fight for what I believe in_. "Remove the enchantment," the king ordered abruptly. "Arthur, come here." The prince obligingly rolled from his bed and sauntered back into their room, hair and grin both askew.

Merlin glanced uncertainly at the king for a last confirmation. He had not often used magic in Uther's presence and maybe never? with the king aware of his intention beforehand. Or at all. He stretched his hand out to Arthur, blinking happily and completely oblivious, and the king nodded decisively. Merlin spoke, "_Abuge aglaecraeft._"

The prince swayed minutely. His smile slipped, as did his color. Merlin rounded the table, but the king was next to his son. He grasped Arthur's arm, and eased him down into the chair, studying him a moment before he said sternly, "Arthur. You remember?"

Arthur swallowed and said hoarsely, "Everything."

The king nodded, looking from his son to Merlin, who'd grabbed a pitcher of water and a goblet for Arthur. "Make it right," he told them, then added with a touch of exasperation, "for the love of Camelot."

…..*…..

Arthur leaned back in the chair provided him in the tent to one side of the combat circle, listening to the sounds of the crowd beyond the crimson material, trying to focus on anything but the sharp pain high on his right side, the battered feel of his body.

"One of your ribs is broken, sire," Gaius concluded, and held out one hand behind him.

Merlin was ready with the roll of bandages, and Arthur held the material of his shirt out of the way as the physician began to bind his ribs tightly for the next round. "I'm sorry," Merlin murmured, stepping back and crossing his arms tightly over his own chest, as if he had to physically restrain himself from using his magic to help Arthur.

He sighed, letting his head fall back. "It's not your fault," he told the younger man. Again. "Olaf wouldn't accept my apology. Thought I changed my mind too quickly about his daughter, probably. My intentions –" He interrupted himself with a hiss as Gaius tied the bandage with a tightening yank that pained him. "Have to let him take out _his_ feelings on me for a while, then maybe he'll listen when I apologize again."

Olaf was both tough and clever, but in spite of the broken rib, Arthur was younger and faster. And the last round of combat was the sword – he _excelled_ in the sword.

All he had to do was to prevent Olaf killing him, without injuring the older warrior. And then, "This is no way to achieve peace," he grunted, taking Merlin's hand and allowing his friend to pull him to his feet again.

Merlin said, "I'm –"

Arthur interrupted what was sure to be yet another apology. "Shut up, Merlin," he said, giving him a cuff on his shoulder and a tired grin. "Sometimes a fight is the _only_ way to achieve peace – and at least it's not between our armies."

…..*…..

Merlin stood at Arthur's shoulder through the bustle of departure in the central courtyard, and if anyone noticed the ease of movement and apparent lack of discomfort the young prince of Camelot displayed after three rounds of combat, no one questioned it within his hearing.

They watched Olaf lift his beautiful, disdainful daughter to the saddle of her white horse, then turn to Uther in farewell. They could not hear what he said, but there was a genial smile on his face, and the two kings shared a hand-clasp before Olaf turned to his own mount.

Arthur took a deliberate half-step back, onto the toes of Merlin's boot, and nodded to direct his attention to one side. Alined snapped a pair of manacles around the wrists of his middle-aged sorcerer and gave them a nasty yank. Merlin grimaced at the expression of timid horror on Trickler's face. He almost felt sorry for the other magic-user… except that he'd used his magic against Arthur.

"Why so cross, Alined?" Uther said blandly as the other monarch stepped up into his saddle.

Arthur added, in much the same tone, "Anyone would think you didn't want peace?" Merlin bit his lip to hold back a smile, at that.

Alined simpered at them over the hindquarters of his mount. "But of course I do," he assured them. He'd signed the charter with the other four, after all. "Peace," he added, nearly hissing the word, in spite of his smile, "_love_ it."

"Well, you may return any time to view the treaty," Uther invited.

The smile soured. "You're very kind," Alined said, kicking his horse and giving the chain attached to the manacles around his sorcerer's wrists a jerk at the same time.

"While I attribute none of the blame of this situation to you," the king said conversationally, his eyes on his departing guests, but no one else within earshot but his son and Merlin, "and understand that your actions prevented war and helped to ensure peace, this is the second time that your life has been endangered with a love spell, Arthur." Uther turned to them, then, and though he met Arthur's gaze, Merlin knew the king was speaking to him, also. "It must not happen a third time. Therefore, you have one year."

"One year for what?" Arthur said blankly.

"To find a wife and marry." Uther began to step away, then paused, and his expression softened almost imperceptibly. "That's an order."


	21. Quickening

**A/N: LONGEST. CHAPTER. EVER. But I had elements set up for this story as far back as Chapter 1 of **_**Vortigern's Tower**_**, including Alvarr in Merlin's clan when he was a boy, making the two of them enemies, and I supposed you all would rather have this altogether, than separated into two chapters… I'll admit, I went back and forth on what to do with the question of Mordred. Can't leave that plot thread hanging, but I never intended to go as far as season 5 did with this fic, either… I hope this conclusion is well-reasoned, clear, and satisfactory… **

**2:11 Quickening**

Arthur stood to one side of the training field, choosing another knife to join the half dozen he'd already thrown with vicious strength at the painted target set up for his personal use.

It wasn't that Arthur resented the order. If he was being honest and fair, he'd have to admit he was surprised that his father hadn't pushed the issue before, either for himself or for Morgana. For whatever reason.

The process started small and relatively painless, with the assistance of Geoffrey and the official court records, collecting the names of possible spouses, young ladies born to royalty or nobility, foreign and native to Camelot, confirmed or potential allies. Within ten years or so of his age – a few years older wouldn't make much difference, several years younger might be preferable, though none underage, of course, as the wedding would take place in less than a year. Double-checking through death and marriage notices to cross a few names from that list, another five days of turning it over to his father for another handful of rejections.

But now it was up to him to take the next step. Through the winter months he was expected to initiate and continue correspondence with the fathers and guardians of those names that remained, first to establish if the young lady in question was amenable to the idea of a union with him, then to setting a schedule of visitation for the spring. His father had recommended a fortnight with each, to allow himself and the lady in question to explore compatibility; those few he had met before, once or twice, he hadn't seen in years, and more than half he'd never set eyes on.

Before an agreement was reached, a proposal offered, a betrothal accepted, a marriage performed.

Arthur selected the next knife in the row, flipped it once, then hurled it at the target.

"She could be beautiful," Merlin offered, referring to the future Lady Pendragon, not yet chosen. The young sorcerer leaned on the table, taking time, Arthur gathered, between one errand and the next for Gaius, to check on Arthur.

He grunted. "She could be gorgeous, and a pig," he said shortly. "Two weeks to choose?"

"Two weeks can be quite a long time," the younger man observed. "Long enough. You know it was less than a week that you and I knew each other, at Dinas Emrys."

"Yes, and see how that turned out – can't get _rid_ of you," Arthur said, unable to let the opportunity pass. Merlin's quick grin flashed, and Arthur realized his spirits had lightened somewhat. Arthur tossed the next knife experimentally and caught it again. "You don't recommend I take each of these young ladies on a quest of danger and magic, see how well they hold up?"

Merlin tipped his head in a thoughtful way. "At least she might know what she's getting into, then. Life in Camelot is anything but dull."

Arthur snorted. "Morgana's been on edge, too, have you noticed?" he commented. "She thinks, after I marry, she's next. She's probably not wrong, but…" Merlin met his eyes with serious understanding and a nod. _But what about her magic_, neither of them ventured to say.

"Speaking of Morgana," Merlin said, straightening and nodding toward the archway leading to the central courtyard. "She's back early from her ride."

Arthur turned and squinted. His half-sister's emerald cape was distinctive, but she wasn't alone. At her side was a second figure, not many inches shorter, the cloak a dark blue-green and of rougher material. "Who's that with her?" he asked.

Merlin came out from behind the table before answering, and there was an odd note in his voice Arthur couldn't identify as he said, "That's Mordred."

The name was familiar, but Arthur didn't place it until the two newcomers neared, and it was the similarity of the black hair and blue eyes to the young man at his side that reminded him. The boy's eyes were on Merlin, who inclined his head in a polite but rather adult greeting.

"Look who I found wandering in the woods," Morgana declared with a happy smile, absolutely free of the sarcasm that usually colored her conversations with Arthur. "You remember Mordred, don't you?"

"Yes, of course," Arthur said. "Welcome back to Camelot." The boy met his eyes with a tiny smile, more secretive than self-conscious.

Merlin said, "Wandering in the woods?" And Arthur remembered that they'd turned the boy and his mentor over to Merlin's clan elder, the last they saw him.

"Not alone, of course, he was with his guardian," Morgana reassured them, her color rising a bit, her eyes on the boy's face as she gave him a little hug. "He very kindly agreed to let Mordred spend the day in Camelot." They exchanged a warm, caring smile, and Arthur found himself thinking of Merlin and Hunith.

"Glad to hear it," Arthur said. "I hope you enjoy yourself today. Morgana, a word?" He inclined his head to invite her to walk with him. Morgana followed him, but the tilt of her head and the set of her shoulders was defiant.

Behind them, Arthur heard Merlin said, in a tone of casual curiosity, "Why didn't Cerdan come into the city with you?" If the boy answered him, it wasn't with audible words.

"What happened?" Arthur said to Morgana, not demanding or accusing, but simply a request for more information.  
"Nothing happened," she said defensively. "I met them along the path near the Forest of Brechfa, and recognized Mordred. We talked for a bit, and he was interested in seeing Camelot again." They drew to a halt, halfway to the target Arthur had been using, to look back at the two.

Once again Arthur was struck by their similarities. Mordred had pushed his cloak back off his shoulders and rolled up his sleeves, exposing the dark curves of his druid's mark on his forearm. And if it wasn't for the roundness of lingering childhood in his face and a certain something lacking in his carriage, Arthur might have thought he was looking at Merlin as he'd first met him at Dinas Emrys. But he saw differences, also.

Merlin no longer wore the druid's cloak, and the sleeves of his shirt and jacket concealed his own tattoos, as he stood with his back to Arthur, arms crossed, but it was more than dress or attitude. The boy picked up a dagger with a blade both long and slim, handling and testing it with more casual familiarity than Merlin handled table cutlery, and the interest Mordred displayed in the weapons table made Arthur uneasy, somehow. Such a fascination with weapons and fighting was unusual for a peace-loving druid.

In his mind, Arthur heard the young man speaking to the druid boy, when they had thought themselves alone. _Sometimes_, he'd said, _the only way you can protect someone is by the death of the one who is threatening… but that should always be the very last choice. _

"It's just for the day – they agreed on where and when to meet, later on," Morgana assured him.

He faced her again. "What are the two of you going to do today, then?" Arthur asked.

"Show him around Camelot, of course," Morgana said. "The last time he was here, he only got to see Gaius' chambers."

Arthur gave her a half-grin. "Arguably the most interesting room in the whole citadel."

She smiled back, relaxing at his implied acceptance of the arrangement. "It's one of them," she allowed. She turned to walk back toward the pair of black-haired druid boys, and Arthur found himself catching her elbow, taking her a few paces sideways, out of the knife-throwing lane.

"Be careful, please?" he said. "Keep him out of Father's way?" She scoffed at such an obvious caution, and he added, "And don't – do any magic with him, either."

At that a mutinous light came into her green eyes, but she nodded. "I promise to return him to his guardian safe and sound," she said sarcastically. There was something in the way she said _guardian_, again that slight increase of color, a momentary dropping of her eyes, that Arthur promptly forgot when she added, "And I promise not to run away from Camelot with them."

It bothered him that she'd thought enough on that option to reassure him of her decision against it.

"Do you want Merlin with you today?" he asked. "I'm not sure what tasks Gaius has in mind for him, but –"

At the mention of his name, Morgana shifted her weight and turned her head to look at their young friend. Arthur followed her gaze instinctively, and his suggestion choked into silence.

In that second, Mordred had turned from the weapons table, his whole body in motion to throw the knife at the target. Merlin spun on his heel, stretching tautly as if to pluck the knife from the air, absolutely pale with sudden desperation at the boy's unexpected cast of the blade. Missing it by inches, his reaching fingers clenched into a merciless fist and the knife stuck in thin air. Only then did he look around to see Arthur, a good six feet out of the throwing-lane. His relief was palpable, and huge, and startled Arthur.

"No, you can keep him," Morgana said, wryly amused, as she stepped away from him.

Whatever had just happened, she'd missed it completely. What had just – Mordred's face showed boyish disappointment, resentment of a thwarted display of talent. A druid, showing off weapons skills? And the extremity of Merlin's reaction in stopping the cast before it reached the target… he had clearly, completely believed that the boy's actions had endangered Arthur, deliberately or accidentally. Why should he assume the boy to be so careless as to throw a knife at a target when someone stood in the way? Careless, or…

Mordred turned from Merlin without another glance to join Morgana, who laid her arm across his shoulders again as they left the side-yard. The knife dropped harmlessly to the grass as Merlin watched them go, and Arthur retrieved it, continuing on to his friend's side. Merlin's customary friendly cheer was distinctly lacking, replaced by a mask of blank impassivity.

Arthur was struck by other memories. The young sorcerer's evasion when he'd asked for Merlin's thoughts on the High Priestess' visit; a similar expression, as Merlin looked down on the body of the cursed girl he'd killed to save Arthur's life.

"What the hell was that?" Arthur said, conversationally.

Merlin's shoulders twitched, and he allowed Arthur a small smile. "My fault," he said, and it was no explanation at all. _Do you mind if I don't say? It's probably nothing…_

"You two just catching up?" Arthur prodded further. "He's been with your clan well over a year now, hasn't he? He had news of –" he racked his memory for the name – "Iseldir, wasn't it?"

"He's not with Iseldir anymore," Merlin said. "Nor Cerdan. He's got a new mentor." His gaze dropped to the knife in Arthur's hand; he took it and replaced it on the table.

A new mentor with a less-than-passive approach to self-defense? Arthur wondered, remembering how the younger boy had touched his sword at their farewell, almost reverently. Why would that bother Merlin? Arthur himself trained every day, and more than once had dragged his friend into a reluctant participation, if he didn't have specific orders from Gaius taking up his time. Merlin had faced Kanen's horde with a sword in his hand, after all.

"Someone you knew?" he asked casually.

Merlin merely hummed thoughtfully, and turned away.

…..*…..

It was past midnight when Merlin fell asleep. And little less than an hour before he was awake again.

A rain-storm had settled over the land just after sunset, not a brilliant exhibition of thunder and lightning, just a hard and steady downpour that turned the streets to streams, the central courtyard to a shallow pond, and had people closing and barring doors and windows early. The damp was pervasive and chilling, this far into autumn; the relentless pounding of heavy and many raindrops discouraged conversation and the dark gloom and drop in temperature made bed and blankets an attractive notion.

Only, his magic remained alert.

Seeing Mordred was a surprise, but Merlin was ready to allow it a pleasant surprise. Except for the memory of the dragon's warning that he'd be criminally foolish to forget, the blatant proof that the boy's interest in fighting – with weapons of steel and words of sorcery both – had been encouraged. And the name of his new mentor, no longer part of Iseldir's clan at all, but gathering his own followers.

Alvarr. It had been about seven and a half years since Merlin had seen the blonde druid, his expression flat and unyielding as he watched Merlin walk away to his death. Had that been why Alvarr had not come into Camelot with Mordred and Morgana? Because of the awkwardness of meeting Merlin? Because he was too busy with other business? And what might that business be?  
In all fairness, Merlin told himself, seven-going-on-eight years was a long time, and Ari, his father, was a good man, if a bit brusque. Alvarr could have matured, mellowed.

Merlin wasn't completely comfortable with the idea of Mordred spending the day in Camelot with Morgana, unsupervised. Knowing Arthur, he'd guessed at what warnings and reminders the prince had given his half-sister in private. But Arthur, he felt and his magic seemed to agree, was the one in danger, and Merlin had therefore spent the rest of the day shadowing his prince. Even though that meant composing half a dozen introductory letters to young ladies from Arthur's list, while the prince paced his bedchamber. Even though it meant facing his mentor's disapprobation when he returned to their shared quarters late for dinner and all the afternoon's responsibilities unfulfilled. The leech tank had been mentioned again.

Merlin tossed himself to his other side on his narrow bed, having to yank his cover out from under himself and give it a kick into place again. It was impossible to sleep in the drumming of rain against his shutters, impossible to relax with his magic so wary, impossible to think with all that whispering going on inside –

Wait, whispering?

He bolted upright, controlling and directing his magic, hearing telepathic voices. Inside Camelot, inside the citadel, though what they said was not clear, nor did he recognize them. Short, terse questions, followed by short direct answers. Purposeful and hurried.

Merlin leaped out of bed, shoving his feet into his boots. He didn't bother with candles or Gaius, but snatched his jacket for warmth in the cold dark corridors, and took off running.

He headed instinctively for the third floor on the east wing – Morgana's room in the tower on the end, Arthur's chambers at the corner, and Uther's to the north – if the threat was assassination, that was where an intruder might –

The alarm bells sounded, clanging the warning, and he skidded to a stop, desperately trying to grasp the inaudible whispers around the noise of the bells. He focused on the phrases, twisted his head to catch at directionality.

_ No, this way. Down here._

Down. Merlin turned to sprint back the way he'd come.

…..*…..

Arthur strode down the hall energetically, in spite of the time of night and the rainstorm. An intruder in the citadel - even with the threat and mystery of such an event - was a welcome change from the process of choosing a mate that had filled his days lately. This was a problem definite and tangible, one he could deal with exactly and decisively.

"What do you mean, you lost him?" he tossed over his shoulder to the first guard of three that followed him on their prescribed route. "He could be dangerous!"

There was movement in the shadows just ahead of them, and Arthur reacted instantly, grasping the intruder by the neck and shoving him against the wall. Then he recognized him, tousled black hair, wide blue eyes, long fingers raking at Arthur's fist at his windpipe.

"Merlin?" he said, too surprised for a moment to release his friend, until the younger man choked out his name. "Oh, sorry."

"I heard them," Merlin gasped out. "Not up here – they're going down."

According to Arthur's experience and training, an intruder threatened one of two things – murder or theft. Up meant intentions against one of the citadel's inhabitants, as sleeping quarters were all located above the ground floors. Down meant the vaults.

They proceeded at a fast walk. Someone like Merlin could dash about through darkened hallways, trusting to a magical sixth sense to warn him of danger and prevent harm, but Arthur had been taught differently. As much as he might long to hunt his quarry down as swiftly as possible, it was both unwise and careless to hurry, when haste might mean passing a hidden intruder, or falling into an ambush waiting in a darkened doorway or around a blind corner.

Torch in hand, Arthur led Merlin and the three guards assigned to him during an alarm past a row of tombs, the stone effigies horizontal on the heavy lids. There was no sight of lurking or fleeing shadows, no shouts from distant parts of the citadel to hail the capture of a prowler. Each narrow storage room was secured with iron bars, locked as the prisoner cells would be, but home to vessels tall and fat, casks both tiny and delicate, and heavy and rough, shelves filled and walkway narrowed with treasures of various natures.

The door of the third one on the left swung open, rusty hinges and clingy cobwebs alike protesting at his passage. "The locks are not damaged," Arthur said, holding the torch lower to examine the iron lock. His hand went to the ring of keys at his belt.

"Magic," Merlin said, noncommittally.

Arthur pushed his way further into the vault, lighting another torch in a wall sconce. The dust that lay heavily on everything served to testify at a glance that all was in its place, nothing missing – except at the back of the vault. A fat red-purple pillow on a pedestal, fuzzy with dust, showed a clear dent of clean velvet in its center, where an object had been lifted. Arthur gave the cell another cursory glance – nothing else so much as touched. "Whoever it was knew exactly what they were looking for," Arthur commented.

"Apparently," Merlin murmured, still not meeting Arthur's eyes.

"Is that all you've got to say?" Arthur said, annoyed.

Merlin's gaze rose to the empty pillow. "What was it he took?"

Arthur took a moment to run through the inventory he'd memorized years earlier; it was part of his job to safeguard the treasures of Camelot. "The Crystal of Neahtid," he answered finally.

"Was it precious, this crystal?" The sorcerer sounded very detached, for the circumstances they found themselves in, and Arthur's irritation increased. Did he not realize who would be blamed for the theft? Arthur, in his dual responsibility of commanding the watch and guarding the vaults. Merlin, also, if sorcery had aided the theft.

"Of course it was!" Arthur's voice rose. "It wouldn't be down here otherwise, would it?" He pushed past Merlin as he exited the vault, grabbing the younger man by a handful of his jacket sleeve to bring him along.

"Where are we going?" Merlin said.

"To see if the thieves were apprehended, or if they've escaped the city," Arthur answered. "And then, to report to my father."

The warning bells, Arthur noticed immediately, had roused the old physician from his sleep, as well as the king. Or maybe Gaius had gone to check on his apprentice, and was worried by Merlin's absence in a time of alarm. Arthur released Merlin to the old man's side as he continued on to face his father alone and report on the night's events. Uther's scowl deepened, and even Arthur's conclusion with apology failed to placate him.

"You're sorry?" The king's hands were on his hips. "That's not good enough. This is a grievous loss, Arthur. The Crystal of Neahtid was locked away for good reason."

Everything in the vaults was. But such details might help Arthur find the thieves – _who_ might want it, and _why_. "Why is it so important?" he asked.

The king looked at Gaius for a moment, then gave a nod of permission. "There are many legends about the crystal," the old man started.

From his place in the shadow of one of the columns, standing sideways to them with his arms folded across his chest and his eyes on the floor, Merlin asked softly, "Is it a weapon?" _Now_, Arthur thought, studying the young sorcerer, _why would you say that?_

"That I don't know," Gaius answered. "The sorcerers of the past believed it held the secret of time itself."

"What did they mean by that?" Arthur said.

"I'm not sure," the old man admitted. "The crystal is an artifact of the Old Religion." Merlin lifted his head at that, and met Arthur's eyes – he guessed that his friend was remembering, as he did, the enormous mass of crystals that Morgause had used to call for the spirit of his mother.

Morgause, who was the sister of his sister… who had just this day taken a guest around the citadel, a guest who had magic also… Arthur narrowed his eyes and cocked his head at his friend, and saw the same theory had already occurred to Merlin. The younger man's blue eyes begged him to say nothing, to keep from speaking to incriminate another druid boy.

"I'll – search the town, find out what I can," Arthur said, feeling stupid for the uselessly ordinary suggestion.

His father nodded agreement. "Arthur, this crystal cannot fall into enemy hands," he reminded him.

Arthur gave the king a respectful bow and turned to stalk out. This time of night, there was nothing to be done but return to his bedchamber. He felt rather than saw Merlin follow him to the corridor, but he didn't turn or slow his steps.

"Arthur, thank you," Merlin said from behind him.

He didn't have to ask, _for what_. "You have til sunrise to find out as much as you can about that crystal," he said. "I'll have to speak to Morgana, and then you and I are going to ride out with an entire troop of knights and guards. You better hope that you can track that thing, or the thief –" He paused, thinking of the new mentor Mordred would have returned to at the end of the day… _someone you knew?_ "And Merlin," he added, then turned on the spot to glare at him, "you better hope we find that crystal."

…..*…..

Merlin reached the quarters he shared with Gaius before the old man did, and retreated to his back bedroom, closing the door and leaving the room dark. The physician wasn't stupid, as Arthur wasn't stupid; they'd make the same connections that Merlin did. And the only question Merlin considered worth asking anymore was, what was Mordred's involvement? Had they waited for Morgana, planning to strike up a conversation and accomplish the invitation to tour the citadel? Had Mordred come to Camelot knowing that he was taking advantage of Morgana's affection, intending to steal a valuable object of magic?

He couldn't help seeing the boy's face, as he looked at Morgana – love and longing. As he looked at Arthur – awe and respect. As he looked at Merlin…

Crossing his legs as he sat on his bed, Merlin took a deep breath to calm himself, before reaching deep inside to the connection he'd inherited before he was even born. _Kilgarrah_, he called, before remembering that it was several hours past midnight now. Well, served the old dragon right – he'd interrupted Merlin's sleep like this before. _I need your help._

It was a moment before he heard the weary reply. _I'm sure you do, young warlock._

_What is the Crystal of Neahtid?_ he asked.

_ To those who know how to use it, the crystal holds great knowledge, _came the answer.

If Alvarr and Mordred had stolen it, they must know how – or they knew how to learn how, or something. _What kind of knowledge?_ How dangerous was the artifact?

_ The knowledge of what is, what has been, and what is yet to come._

Merlin thought on that for a moment. _Do you mean it can show the future?_

_ Amongst other things, yes. Why do you ask?_

Merlin had a limited experience with glimpsing the future, but Morgana's dreams and Kilgarrah's cryptic warnings had left him feeling that it was a subject best left alone as much as possible. _The crystal has been stolen_, he admitted.

_ By whom?_

Merlin sighed to himself. If he stood physically before the great red-gold dragon, he'd have hung his head to avoid eye contact, maybe kicked at a rock on the cave floor in embarrassment. _The druid boy, Mordred, was involved_, he answered. _He visited Morgana here in Camelot today, and I think they walked all over the citadel._

_ The witch showed the druid boy where the crystal was kept?_

Merlin pressed his lips together. _That's not what I said._ But Morgana had either slept through the alarm bell, or ignored it… _I wasn't with them, I don't know what he said to her. I don't even know if he knew what he was doing, or whether he was being manipulated by another. _

_ Once before, I warned you of the druid boy._ The great dragon's voice fairly rumbled inside his skull, setting his teeth to vibrating. _It is his destiny to bring about Arthur's doom. It may be that time is upon you._

_ That doesn't make sense,_ Merlin argued. _Arthur's not even king, yet. And the last time you only said, if Mordred lived, I could not fulfill my destiny to protect Arthur._

_ The ancient prophecies speak of an alliance of Mordred and Morgana united in evil. But this union must be stopped whatever the cost._

Merlin shivered. Kilgarrah had said much the same thing, when Merlin had asked how he could save Arthur from the bite of the Questing Beast. _The young Pendragon must live, no matter what the cost._ Merlin had been willing to bargain his life… but his own life was never meant to be the price. Was the ancient dragon trying to manipulate him once again into killing an enemy?

_Whatever the cost_, he repeated softly. He was still willing to give his life, if that was what it took, but how far was he willing to go, to take another's?

…..*…..

"I don't believe it," Morgana declared, her green eyes flashing, her long black curls still disheveled, so early had he knocked on the door of her bedchamber. "You're accusing a child of spying on us? You're accusing a druid clan of conspiring to rob the king?"

"The coincidence is too great to ignore," Arthur stated, crossing his arms over his chest. "Whose idea was it for Mordred to come here?"

She looked away from him, sinking down on the cushioned stool that sat in front of her dressing table. "I asked, were they heading to Camelot, Al – Mordred's guardian, said unfortunately not. I said, what a pity…" She stopped, shaking her head. "I don't really know whose idea it was."

"Did Mordred ask to be shown the vaults?" Arthur said.

"No!" she flashed. "I showed him – everything in the citadel. I mean, we didn't go in every room, but… I told him which room was which."

"Which stairway led to the lower levels?" Arthur suggested. "Which direction was the prisoner cells, and which the vaults?"

She bit her lip, then nodded. "But that doesn't mean they were involved!"

Arthur took a deep breath, conceding to himself that it didn't mean the boy knew what he was doing, either. But he was not so ready to give the benefit of the doubt to the unknown guardian. "Did they say where they were camping?" he asked neutrally. "If we can find them to talk to them, if they're innocent that should be easy enough to prove, and then we can turn our investigation elsewhere, to catch the real thieves. But for now, it's the only lead we have to go on."

"Their camp was… in the Valley of Chemery. Arthur, about the crystal that was stolen… What's it used for? Is it some kind of weapon?"

"Gaius didn't know," he answered. "Merlin may have more answers, this morning." He thought again of the crystals Morgause possessed. "I'd guess at the very least, it can provide information. And knowledge is power."

She brightened. "Like a book, almost?"

Arthur made a face. _He_ didn't know, but, "Father thinks it's dangerous for use; it's been locked away for that reason."

"If they…" she hesitated again, looking away from him. "If someone did steal it, what if it was someone concerned about protecting their family, their loved ones? I mean, it's not doing us any good, locked away, shouldn't someone be allowed to use it…"

Arthur shook his head decisively. "No matter what the motivation, the fact remains that it was stolen, and from the king. Such a powerful object, no matter what it can do, should not be left vulnerable to whoever happens to pick it up. And what if it ends up in the hands of our enemies – Odin, or Cenred? – sold or stolen again? No, we have to recover it." He turned to leave, and Morgana was at his side before he reached the door.

"Arthur, will you please promise me something?"

He looked down into her green eyes ready to make a joke about her worry for his safety, but there was genuine fear there. "If I can," he said.

"Just… be careful? The druids are peaceful, after all… and Mordred is so young."

He smiled. "I promise not to start a fight," he said, making his tone light and teasing, but his intention was serious. He would go in peace, to talk and to question, to discover the truth, but if he and his men were attacked… well, then. He could promise no more.

The sky was streaked with the faint pink and orange of approaching sunset, as he made his way along a corridor open to the central courtyard, on his way to the physician's chamber, to collect his sorcerer for the morning's expedition.

As he pushed through the door into Gaius' chamber, he nodded to the old man. By the long table where the two of them habitually took their meals, Gaius was ready with a large wooden bowl of porridge, and a small fat jug with a narrow neck that he assumed held honey or a berry sauce.

Merlin emerged from his room with his head down, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand. He made his way blindly toward the sounds of his breakfast being readied, stumbling on the stairs. He collapsed onto the bench, leaning against the wall, and blinked up at Arthur. Gaius pushed a full bowl in front of his apprentice.

"Can you eat and talk at once?" Arthur said to Merlin, who bent over his bowl and began scooping his breakfast into his mouth too fast to be chewing it properly. "Tell me what you know about the new clan Mordred was with."

"Not a clan," Merlin managed. "Just a faction that left the clan. His new mentor's name is Alvarr." The younger man ducked his head over his breakfast so Arthur, who had remained standing, could only see the mess of his black hair, and nothing of his face.

Alvarr – why did that name sound familiar? He was sure he'd heard Merlin say it before…

"Are you sure?" Gaius said, turning to them with an expression of mild surprise.

Merlin only grunted, but Arthur said, "You know of him?"

"He's developed something of a fearsome reputation as a sorcerer," Gaius said. "I know he and his band of renegades have threatened to overthrow the king. He is a fanatic, and his supporters follow him unthinkingly, blinded by his charisma."

Merlin snorted, and the sound was uncharacteristically bitter for him. "It worked on Mordred, anyway."

"Do you think Alvarr's using him?" Arthur asked, hopeful for his sister's sake that the boy might prove innocent.

"He may believe that one of them, Mordred, possibly, can harness the power of the crystal," Gaius answered, then turned his thoughtful look on his apprentice. "We can't let this happen, Merlin."

"You know, I am capable of reaching that conclusion myself," Merlin snapped. His spoon rattled in his empty wooden bowl as he shoved himself back from the table, stalked to retrieve his jacket and supply bag from its hook on the wall behind the door. "If you're ready, Arthur?" he said, and swung himself through the door without waiting.

Arthur met Gaius' raised eyebrow with his own expression of surprise, and shrugged in answer to the old man's unspoken question. Any number of things could be bothering Merlin about this incident – perhaps on the ride he could discover what, exactly.

"Thank you, Gaius," he said, on his way out.

…..*…..

Merlin wanted nothing more than to be left to ride in the peace and confusion of his own thoughts. Unfortunately, Arthur seemed determined not to allow that. Quietly worded inquiries Merlin could, and did, rebuff. But then the prince chose another tactic – flinging sarcastic abuse haphazardly in Merlin's direction, loudly enough for the first four mounted knights behind them to hear.

"I don't know why I bring you on these expeditions," Arthur commented, with a half-grin over his shoulder that told Merlin exactly what he was doing – making him sorry for not answering the prince's questions truthfully when he had the chance. "You spend the whole time terrified."

"I am not terrified," Merlin said shortly.

"Yes, you are, I can tell you are."

In spite of himself, something that had been clenched tight in the region of his heart and lungs loosened somewhat, and he retorted, "No, you can't."

"If you weren't scared," Arthur glanced back at him, one blonde eyebrow raised slightly with his intent to goad Merlin, "you'd be talking rubbish as usual."

"Well, I am talking rubbish as usual!" Merlin shot back, before realizing what he'd just said, and trying to backtrack as Arthur laughed at him, "I mean, I am talking as usual. So clearly I'm not scared."

Arthur faced forward again in time to rein his mount to a halt, lifting one fist in the air as a signal for the knights and guards that followed. Merlin urged his own horse forward forward until he was even with the prince, and he could see the reason they'd stopped. A crossroads. Through the Forest of Brechfa… the north fork, Mordred had said. The Valley of Chemery, Morgana had told Arthur. That was two different directions, from here.

"Where now?" Arthur asked him, the teasing dropped.

"I've no idea." Merlin slipped from his saddle, slogging through the mud to reach the center of the fork. "Give me a minute." As he crouched to study first one muddy trail, then the other, Merlin considered. He'd once told Kilgarrah, he wouldn't punish someone for something they hadn't done. What about for something done unwittingly?

It is his destiny… if this boy lives… Mordred and Morgana. They weren't evil, he knew. He'd dealt with Nimueh, with Sigan, with the sidhe. He knew evil. She and the boy had a kind of bond… but what Kilgarrah spoke of was different. Morgana was impetuous and emotional, open to the influence of her half-sister, the High Priestess. Mordred was young and impressionable, listening now to the likes of Alvarr.

Merlin's hands trembled. He and destiny, it seemed, were at a crossroads, in more ways than one.

_Mordred_, he said silently. And nothing more. And waited. He'd just revealed to the druid boy the fact that he, at least, followed.

_Emrys_. It was Mordred's voice, but no longer the cool, enigmatic tones of almost-adulthood; it had the frantic sound of a frightened child.

_You keep company with thieves_. Merlin gave the observation a hint of a question.

_ I didn't know… they didn't tell me…_

_You have the crystal?_ Merlin asked, aware of the sounds of impatient men and horses behind him. _We have been sent to recover it, we wish to do so peacefully._

After a moment, the boy responded, _You are with the prince?_ His voice in Merlin's head was nearly unrecognizable with panic. Mordred didn't give him a chance to answer, but rushed on, _Don't lead him here! You can't bring him here! Keep him away!_

It was his instinct as well, to keep the two of them apart. He didn't believe the druid boy meant Arthur any harm, but 'bring about Arthur's doom' could be accomplished any number of ways.

Then he heard other whispers, _They're coming! Warn the others!_ He didn't ask the boy if he'd betrayed them intentionally or not, it didn't matter. Alvarr's band had the crystal, and he couldn't recover it alone. He didn't see that there was any other way, except to proceed as they'd planned. Carefully.

He concentrated on the ground in front of him. Alvarr had served the druid clan more than once, covering a back-trail so the knights could not find them to break up their camp, force them to move on. Merlin himself was not unfamiliar with the magic used to hide tracks; it seemed a relatively easy thing to locate the lingering traces of the spells cast, to unravel the one he sought, to reverse it.

Merlin opened his eyes to see footprints appearing in the mud as if formed under invisible men, leading to their right. "The renegade camp is this way," he told Arthur, returning to mount his horse. Arthur signaled to the troop of men following, and they made their way down the right fork of the trail.

"This Alvarr," Arthur said, relaxed in the saddle though his eyes searched the forest all around them and his voice was low enough that only Merlin would hear him. "You do know him, don't you."

In memory, Merlin heard the blonde druid hiss in his ear, Lazy good-for-nothing son of a whore… Bastard… Monster. He felt the heavy boots catch his ribs. Only a few times, before he'd learned not to get caught away from the camp on his own, but enough that he would never forget.

"I remember," Arthur continued, "before the battle of Dinas Emrys, you said to me, your greatest worry used to be about outrunning Alvarr."

Merlin sighed. "Do you remember that I also told you, I was four years old when I proved my magic? I… interrupted a coming-of-age demonstration. I didn't know any better – it looked like fun and I wanted to play, too." He huffed in amusement as his childish self.

"It was Alvarr?" Arthur said.

Merlin gave him an ironic grin. "When you were eighteen, sire, would you have taken kindly to a four-year-old matching you for skill and strength in a tournament?"

Arthur's lips quirked, but he shook his head. "Honestly, I can't even picture that happening," he said. After a moment, he leaned to reach across the distance between their two horses to give Merlin's shoulder a compassionate grip and a playful shove at the same time. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but… I'm glad you came to Dinas Emrys."

He grinned back at his blonde-haired, blue-eyed prince. "I'm glad you came, too," he said. "If I hadn't met you, I might not have listened to Kilgarrah."

It had been the words of the ancient dragon that had saved his life, had stopped him sacrificing himself. And last year, it had been Kilgarrah's words that had prompted him to offer his life again, to save Arthur… that had led to him killing Nimueh. He did not like where that line of reasoning took him. Why was it he always seemed to end up either risking his life or taking another's?

They left the horses behind at the first indications Merlin gathered that they were nearing the renegades' camp. Arthur signaled his orders to the troops he led silently, sending most of the men to either side, to flank the camp, surround the camp if possible, then crept forward himself, sword drawn. Merlin was uneasy. It was too quiet, too still. Arthur squatted for a moment, studying the area, the glimpses of tents and seating arrangements and supply stacks, then suddenly darted forward.

"What are you doing?" Merlin hissed after him, but followed the prince at a crouching run to the camp, ready at any moment for an ambush to be sprung.

It seemed to him a fairly established camp, clothing hung to dry after washing, sacks of vegetables slouching near cook-pots and fire-pits. If Mordred was the only child, and this a camp of men rather than the families that usually composed a clan, he estimated that their thirty soldiers outnumbered the renegades by as many as three to one. But there were no signs of a hasty retreat, necessities grabbed, nonessentials dropped mid-rush.

Arthur knelt at the largest campfire and reached beneath the black iron pot suspended from its tripod to finger a handful of the ashes. "Well, whoever was here, they're not here anymore." He straightened, dropping his guard as he reached to sheath the sword in his hand.

"Yes, they are!" Merlin disagreed, instinctively throwing his arm out to shove Arthur back.

A crossbow bolt zipped past Arthur's throat, felling one of the guards that had followed them. It was the first warning of the renegades' ambush sprung – followed closely by the yelling rush of the men attacking.

Merlin met Arthur's eyes – "Find Mordred!" the prince shouted. Merlin nodded and turned, taking two steps before it occurred to him to wonder if Arthur wanted the boy protected or apprehended, or both.

_Mordred_! he called silently, dodging sideways through the camp so he could keep one eye on Arthur. He wasn't worried, really, they had the advantage of numbers, and the renegades' surprise ambush hadn't been enough to take that from them. The prince was a warrior unequaled, and every single red-cloaked man here would die protecting him. His eye was caught by a ripple of dark blue-green. He ducked behind a tree, recognizing Alvarr not three feet from the other boy – older, thicker, unshaven, but unmistakable – fitting another bolt into a crossbow. _Mordred, run_! Merlin leaned out from behind the tree, signaling to the boy who was clearly lost and confused in the violent melee. As he darted obediently away, Alvarr spun, aiming the crossbow not for Arthur, but for Merlin.

Instead of ducking back, he pushed away from the tree, sprinting toward the edge of the camp where Mordred was headed. Through the trees, past the small fleeing figure of the druid boy, Merlin saw flashes of red – Arthur's knights, closing the noose around the renegades' camp, hurrying to aid the prince and end the battle. He was ten paces behind Mordred when the boy dove sideways behind another tree, his movements the blind panic of a wild animal cornered.

He didn't look for Merlin at all, just crouched and glanced golden magic at a pair of lances lying on the ground beside the last tent in the camp, giving a flinging gesture to send them arcing toward the two closest knights.

"No!" Merlin shouted, reaching to freeze them as he had done with Mordred's knife – thrown to kill, this time, not just to demonstrate skill with a target.

"Sorcery!" the foremost knight snarled, snatching the lance and spinning it about to bring it to bear on his attacker, only half-seen behind the tree.

Merlin was still seven paces away. He used the hold of his magic on the second spear to drop it, rotate it, lock it into place ten inches from the ground. The knight tripped, his cast of the first spear jarring harmlessly against the tree. The second knight, further to the side and in full view of the terrified boy, reacted with a swing of his sword straight at Mordred's throat.

"No!" Merlin shouted again, skidding between the knight and the boy, catching the blade flat between his palms, more by luck and instinct than skill and intent. For a moment his chest heaved for air as he stared into the knight's face, before the man pulled back with a nod of recognition.

"Merlin Emrys." The fallen knight scrambled to his feet.

"I can handle this," Merlin said shortly, breaking eye contact to glance briefly over the other knights and guards who reached them, and let his hands fall away from the sword. "Arthur needs you."

The noise of the fight ongoing rose behind him. There was only a brief hesitation before agreement and urgency had them hurrying to Arthur's side.

Merlin dropped to one knee next to Mordred, the boy's body slumped and shaking beneath the cloak. "It's okay, you're safe," he soothed, wondering if his promise would hold if the boy was brought back to Camelot as a conspirator. Wondering what the hell he would do or say if Mordred stood before Uther accused of theft.

"You – you –" Mordred stuttered, before reverting to the form of communication he found easier. _You risked your life to protect me_. Merlin wanted to point out that an unarmed child would hardly be in danger from one of the knights, had he not attacked them with magic and spears, but said nothing_. I am in your debt, Emrys_. Mordred calmed slightly, blue eyes wide with astonishment. _This is the second time you've saved me._

_I told you before, magic is given to us that we should protect, not attack_, he replied.

_But – Dinas Emrys. The mount, the battle. The enemies you killed._

"No," Merlin said aloud. "I went to that hill to sacrifice my life and magic in place of twelve others, the ritual completed promising peace and protection and stability for the clans. I went to give, not to take. To die, not to kill."

"But what –" Mordred shifted into a sitting position against the base of the tree. Merlin glanced to be sure none approached them, renegade or knight. His eyes found Arthur, wielding his sword with casual confidence, uninjured and unworried.

"Arthur," Merlin said, understanding the question. "My destiny was not to die, but to live and protect him."

_And if that requires your life?_ Mordred said. Merlin only smiled at him. The boy's eyes dropped to his hands. _Emrys, I – I have seen the crystal. I don't want anything to happen to you. I don't want him to die. But if it happens, what I saw… it's all my fault._

_If what happens?_ Merlin pushed to his feet, concentrating on the prince, sparing a glance for the boy at his feet. _What did you see?_

_I didn't know – I didn't mean to – Alvarr…_

Merlin bent, hauling the druid boy to his feet, hurrying them both back to the center of the action, which seemed limited now to the renegade druid and the prince. Half the knights ringed the two, ready to move in; half had already begun to perform other duties – tending wounded, searching the camp.

Arthur took a step back from his disarmed opponent, letting his blade drop but not his guard. The renegade glanced around the circle of red cloaks, knew himself defeated, and attacked anyway, slipping a knife from his belt. The prince deflected the blow easily, twisting Alvarr's blade away from their bodies, coming to grips with his enemy at last. The point of his sword placed firmly at the base of the druid's throat, and a fistful of Alvarr's black shirt keeping the other from escaping, wordlessly ordering him to loose the knife.

"Give me the crystal," Arthur said, once the dagger had been dropped.

Merlin slowed, seeing that Arthur had the situation under control. He glanced down at Mordred, who returned the look anxious and frightened – whatever the boy had seen, the danger had not passed.

Alvarr tried to twist away from Arthur's grasp. "Why should you care?" he snarled. "What use is it to you?" Two knights came forward to fumble through the renegade's clothing, and one handed Arthur a small pouch of washed leather. The prince jammed his blade into the earth and accepted the recovered treasure. "You cannot wield the crystal!" Alvarr tried again, desperately. "You do not have the power! None of you do!" He glared around at them again, and his gaze latched clearly onto Merlin for the first time.

Recognition was followed by malevolent loathing for a single instant.

Then Arthur slipped the crystal from the pouch as he turned in the direction of the horses they'd left behind, and Merlin found that all else – even whatever answer Arthur tossed indifferently at the captive - dimmed in the brilliance of the stone. The clear promise of power, of enlightening lucidity, answers, understanding, oh now I see… Merlin's heartbeat matched each of Arthur's steps. The prince gave the crystal a little heft in his palm as he passed Merlin, and his eyes followed it of necessity.

As he drew in breath, he felt the same terrible temptation he'd experienced in the dark clearing, Morgause whispering his grandfather's name.

He wanted something dangerous, and it was completely within his grasp.

…..*…..

"Yes, we do," Arthur told Alvarr, turning away. He hefted the crystal, aware of and amused by the way Merlin's eyes followed the thing, like a small child enthralled with an object pretty, shiny, and forbidden.

Behind him he heard Alvarr snarl in a completely different tone of voice, "You _bastard_ son of a –"

As Arthur twisted back in rising alarm, a succession of startling actions were accomplished in the space of an indrawn breath.

Alvarr's eyes glared golden at Merlin, and his dropped knife sprang up from the ground.

Merlin shivered free of his strange trance and reached for Arthur with the same pale desperation he'd shown the previous day, stopping Mordred's innocuously-aimed knife.

And Mordred himself leaped as if to embrace or attack Merlin, the movement so sudden and unexpected that both druid boys were borne to the ground.

He saw two of his knights react instantly, sheathing bared blades in opposite sides of the enemy sorcerer's body. He saw the life leave Alvarr's eyes before his corpse hit the ground.

He saw blood on Merlin's hands as his friend disentangled himself from the young boy, pushing himself up on his knees.

"Merlin!" Arthur said urgently, absorbing in an instant the fact that Mordred's body was limp and still, that Merlin betrayed no physical pain, only shock and attention to the other. He took a moment to replace the crystal in its pouch, wind the strings around his belt, then knelt at Merlin's side. His friend's hands were swift and gentle, easing the boy's position for comfort, locating and evaluating the wound. "Can you heal him?" Arthur said in a low voice, his eyes on the hilt of the blade, high on the boy's left side. Taking into account the length of the blade and the angle of the wound…

"I don't know," Merlin whispered, laying his fingers around the point of the weapon's entry, but not touching the knife. "Mordred?"

The boy blinked at them, confusion and pain clouding the blue of his eyes, so like Merlin's that a pang of grief shot through Arthur's heart. "Em-rys," he gasped.

"Lie still, Mordred," Merlin ordered, kind but firm. "I have to draw the blade before I can heal you." There was a pause in which Merlin stared into the boy's eyes but neither said anything. "I can't promise anything but my best," Merlin said softly, his voice betraying both sincerity and regret.

"No," Mordred sighed, and his eyes found Arthur's. "No. My lord – I'm sorry. I never meant… hurt anyone." His eyes returned to Merlin's, and there was another brief silence.

"Yes," Merlin said, his voice breaking. "Yes, you did… I understand… Of course… Someday, I will, I promise."

Mordred's eyes dropped shut. "Morgana…" he breathed, a yearning audible through the pain.

Arthur bent forward to take the boy's hand, limp and cold, and wondered if Mordred could feel it. "She loved you, I think," he told the boy in a low voice.

A smile ghosted across pale lips, and the stillness that followed told Arthur all they needed to know.

…..*…..

Merlin hunched low on a narrow log, feeling the heat of the fire on his shins, pressing the heel of his right hand against his skull just upwards and out from his eye. Temple, forehead, and hair, just where the headache was the worst.

Never had destiny weighed so heavily. Never had his choices felt so significant, consequences borne by others rather than himself. Arthur must be protected at all costs, that was paramount and unquestionable. But more than once now the life taken in pursuit of that goal had been innocent.

He heard Arthur's voice, sensed the prince step past him. The meaning of the words eluded him completely, but Arthur repeated his name in a question.

Merlin had no idea what response would be appropriate, but tried one. "Sorry?"

"Not the right answer," Arthur said, his voice amused.

"What?" Merlin lifted his head then, to look down at the prince reclining on his bedroll by the fire.

"Something on your mind, is there?" Firelight glinted in Arthur's eyes, and he couldn't tell if Arthur wanted to be sympathetic or sarcastic, so he didn't answer. "Here. I need you to guard this with your life," he went on lightly, tossing an object into Merlin's lap.

The crystal. Merlin mumbled, "Why me?" He wasn't sure if he was addressing the prince, or some nameless faceless force of fate.

"I can't very well guard it while I'm asleep, can I?" Arthur gave him a full grin as he settled himself into the bedroll.

He returned the smile tiredly. "You think I can guard it in _my_ sleep?" he baited the prince half-heartedly. Probably that _was_ possible, after all.

"Who said anything about you sleeping?" Arthur looked satisfied, as if getting Merlin to participate in their customary banter meant that he didn't have to worry about him. "Merlin – you're the best one to guard something like that. You know that." The prince shuffled over to his other side.

Merlin held the pouch in his hands for a moment, feeling the hard lines through the washed leather, then pushed it to the ground beneath his feet. He shivered, clutching one hand to his head again.

The weight of cumulative possibilities his power could exercise slammed down onto his soul. _I could… I_ could… anything. Everything. His will completely free, with none able to gainsay him, none able to stop him… There was no escape this time, only the strength of his self-control against his doubts, his curiosity, questioning the wisdom of his choices with none to advise.

When he dropped his hand, trembling with exhaustion and the chill of autumn night, soaked with the sweat of resistance, he was surprised to find all still and dark and quiet, the fire burned to the dull red of coals. Arthur and the knights – except for some guard or other posted on watch somewhere out of his sight, he was sure – were asleep.

It lacked seconds, only, until midnight. He felt the rise of magic anticipating the change of one day for another, the pull of the crystal's promises constricting in his chest. It was a distress with remedy, he knew, but was not sure the solution would not prove more damaging than the problem.

No one would see. No one would know. He felt not guilt at the opportunity for secrecy, but relief. Whatever happened would affect only him.

Merlin gathered up the pouch, slowly but no longer hesitating, tipped the stone free from its covering. At first all he saw was the glow and flicker of the fire's heart, distorted by the planes of the crystal's edges. Then he saw three distinct visions, flash… flash… flash, steady as three breaths drawn in a row.

He saw a girl in a thin white undergarment, knees drawn up and hidden like encircling arms and lowered face, by a tumble of dark hair, seated on the floor of a barred cage, one pace square. She lifted her head and her eyes sparked but before he could make out her features –

He saw himself, chained to a tilted slab, half-naked and writhing in agonized response to some unseen stimulus. His head turned as a figure stepped next to the slab –

He saw Morgana. Beautiful and pale and haughtily resolute, her hair and dress formally arranged, the red satin and polished wood of her father's throne outlining head and shoulders. A pair of hands holding the Pendragon crown just over her black waves of hair. Geoffrey's ring. The vision tilted, and another figure came into view just behind and beside the throne. A figure in a gown of blood-red silk, one sleeve black lace and the other a design of ribbon, blonde hair falling curled onto her shoulders, kohl-rimmed eyes triumphant.

Merlin gasped and pushed the crystal away once again, pressing shaking hands to his eyes as if he could push the images from his mind and memory.

He should have run away, again.

…..*…..

When they returned to Camelot late the next morning, Uther, Morgana, and Gaius were all waiting for them on the grand stair.

Arthur dismounted and climbed to face his father. "Well?" Uther said expectantly.

He held out the crystal in its bag. "The crystal was recovered. The thief and his renegade followers resisted and we had no choice but to subdue them by force."

The king grunted, accepting his stolen artifact back from Arthur's hand. "There were no survivors?"

"No, my lord." Arthur winced at Morgana's gasp, but their father appeared to notice neither.

"Any casualties?" Arthur repeated himself in the negative, and Uther added absently, "Well done," dismissing the troop with a wave of his hand as he turned to enter his citadel again.

Arthur met Morgana's eyes, brimming with tears and outrage. "Mordred?" He shook his head. "You promised me!" she hissed, and raised her hand as if she'd slap his face.

He caught her hand, twisting slightly so she would follow his gaze. "Mordred died protecting Merlin," he told his sister shortly, too wearied from the whole trip to soften his words. "If not for him, it would have been Merlin with a knife in his heart." Stunned into silence, she watched as he did, as their dark-haired friend ascended the stairs far to the side with lowered head and dragging steps, passing Gaius as if he neither saw nor heard his mentor.

"We buried the boy and raised a cairn," Arthur said. "Each one of us laid a stone of remembrance and gratitude. Merlin feels bad enough as it is, Morgana, try not to make it worse."

She looked up at him a moment, still saddened but no longer angry, then nodded as her tears spilled down her cheeks.

…..*…..

Merlin stared down into his bowl of stew, absently pushing the chunks back and forth without making any effort to identify them. He heard Gaius' voice but couldn't pull his attention together fast enough to retain the words. "Sorry?" he tried again, tiredly.

"What's the matter?"

He sighed, allowing himself to slouch a little more, deciding to seek comfort in confession, this time. "It's the crystal. It harbors a terrible power, Gaius." Except for the first image, the unknown captive, he knew he'd seen neither past nor present.

"But it's locked away now," Gaius said logically. "It can do no harm." He felt the old man's eyes sharpen on him in sudden understanding. "Unless the damage has already been done."

He fastened his gaze to his mentor's right shoulder. "I held it," he said, around an aching tightness in his throat. "I knew I shouldn't, but…" He stopped to swallow, knowing that he could never make the old man understand those few hours of dwindling resistance. "I saw things." His voice came out a hoarse whisper. "Terrible things."

For once, Gaius didn't raise his voice to chastise Merlin. "Then you've already paid the price," the old man said gently.

"What I saw has not yet come to pass," Merlin continued. "And I am scared, Gaius, I am…" He swallowed again, seeing his face contorted in the agony of restraints, seeing the crown beginning to descend upon the head of the princess. Which would only happen if Arthur was already dead… "Really scared, of what the future may hold."

Gaius pushed the plate of bread to one side as he reached to grasp Merlin's wrist. "There is nothing on this earth that can know all possible futures. Even the crystal."

"But what I saw…" Merlin wondered if this was how Morgana felt, waking from one of her prophetic nightmares. He wondered how Kilgarrah came by his information. "It was so real."

"And it was real," Gaius said reasonably. "But it was just one reality. The future is as yet unshaped. It is we that shape it."

Merlin wondered what Mordred had seen. And whether his choice to allow death to take him, rather than to live to see those visions come to pass, had actually changed the future.

"It is _you_, Merlin," the old physician continued softly. "The decisions you make, the actions you take. Remember that." Gaius pushed himself up from his bench, his empty bowl in hand, and his voice took on a more characteristic tone of affectionate exasperation. "Eat your soup before it gets cold."


	22. The Fires of Idirsholas

**2:12 The Fires of Idirsholas**

Arthur had met Joseph twice before. The herder was blunt and unimaginative, fully capable of handling the royal herds whether on the high fields or gathered into cots for the winter. He came to Uther only when intervention was warranted.

"Three nights back," Joseph told those who had attended the morning session of open audience, "we were camped beneath the walls of Idirsholas."

Arthur leaned over the back of the chair at his father's right, trying to remember if he'd ever heard of or visited such a place before. Uther lounged sideways on his throne, unconcerned. "I'm not sure I would've chosen such a place."

"Good pasture is scarce, sire," Joseph reminded his king in his stolid inoffensive manner, "this far toward winter."

"And what is it you have to tell me?" Uther asked.

"While we were there, we – we saw smoke rising from the citadel." At the catch in the middle-aged man's voice, Arthur moved out from behind his chair to see his father look across the room at Gaius.

Whatever that look had communicated, the court physician took up the questioning of the herder. "And did you see anything else?"

"No."

Uther leaned forward. "Did you go inside?" he asked intently.

"No, nobody has stepped over that threshold for three hundred years." The herder hesitated, which was completely out of character for him, then ventured, "You must know the legend, sire."

When the king did not respond, Gaius did. "When the fires of Idirsholas burn, the knights of Medhir will ride again."

There was a moment of absolute silence in the room, before Uther pushed himself to his feet and turned to Arthur. "Take a ride out there," he said, his demeanor unruffled, but Arthur was close enough to see the way his eyes squinted slightly in apprehension. "Put the people's minds at rest."

Arthur responded, "Yes, Father," his eyes meeting those of the physician's apprentice, sending a wordless message that the younger man understood immediately, turning to leave as Arthur signaled for the guard.

…..*…..

Gaius was close behind Merlin when they reached their shared quarters. "Why is Uther so worried?" he asked, bending to snag his supply bag from where it had been last discarded, under his mentor's desk, on his way to his bedroom to pack.

"Because the Knights of Medhir are a force to be reckoned with," Gaius answered, busying himself with folding what edible odds and ends they had left over from breakfast, and last night's dinner, into a napkin for Merlin's bag.

He leaped up the three stairs into his room, snatching the first available shirt he saw for a spare, retrieving his water-skin from its place over the back of the slatted chair. "Do you believe the story as well?" he called over his shoulder.

"It's more than a story, Merlin," Gaius told him as he descended again to the main chamber. "Some three hundred years ago, seven of Camelot's knights were seduced by a sorceress' call. One by one, they succumbed to her power. At her command, they became a terrifying and brutal force that rode through the lands leaving death and destruction in their wake."

"What happened?" Merlin asked, tucking the folded napkin of food into his bag on top of his spare shirt, alongside the small case he carried of basic necessities should there be a medical emergency.

"It was only after the sorceress herself was killed that the Knights of Medhir finally grew still." Gaius put one hand on Merlin's arm to emphasize his warning, raising one eyebrow. "Merlin, if what Joseph says is true, then something has awoken them. And I fear for each and every one of us."

…..*…..

Arthur reined in his mount as the ruins of the citadel of Idirsholas came into view, the knights that followed on this patrol doing the same behind him. He studied the crumbled towers, the abandoned town rising in tiers around the foot of the brooding castle. There was no smoke visible, now.

He glanced over at the young sorcerer, who stared intently at the ruin, his shoulders hunched, fingers playing absently with the reins. "What is it, Merlin?" he asked. His friend didn't answer, but a faint shiver rippled through his frame. Arthur fell into their comfortable habit, hoping to provoke either an answer or an upswing in Merlin's mood. "Don't tell me you've been listening to Gaius' bedtime stories again?" he drawled, booting his mount into a fast walk, again.

Behind him, he heard Merlin murmur, "I just hope that's all they are."

Given their colorful history, Arthur thought ruefully, how much chance was there of that?

The entirety of the citadel of Idirsholas – unlike Camelot, which bounded its main courtyard on three sides – crouched behind the wide courtyard. Once through the main gate, the knights fanned out as Arthur signaled them, three to each side. He and Merlin continued through the middle of the space, over paving stones so cracked and weather-worn that grass outlined every piece, and carpeted the base of a blasted stick of a tree Arthur assumed was once the focus of the courtyard, much as the horse-and-rider statue was for Camelot.

It was ostensibly deserted, yet Arthur crept at a sideways half-crouch, his sword at the ready. Every sense told him they were alone and secure, but the uneasiness wouldn't leave him. One glance at his companion told him the young sorcerer felt the same, maybe more so.

"What's that noise?" Merlin said suddenly.

"What noise?"

"A sort of trembling sound."

Arthur listened. He could hear nothing but an insidious whistling of wind through the broken stone of the towers high overhead. The hair stood up on the back of his neck anyway, and he wished suddenly that Merlin would either let him in on whatever secrets his magic told him about the place, or shut the hell up. "That's your knees knocking together," he told his friend. And it bothered him when Merlin didn't reply to the taunt.

They reached the other side of the courtyard without incident, and Arthur looked to Merlin for his instinct on where to search first. He glanced between three doorways, open and dark and uncanny as three eyeholes in some grotesquely-misshapen skull, then nodded to their left.

Arthur led the way, sword still drawn, into the breathless dusty innards of Idirsholas, though Merlin just behind him was the one who decided upon their path. No one spoke, and then they reached a room with a low ceiling, horizontal slits high on either wall open to the outside air. He reached to push the door – barred iron, like a prison cell would have – and it croaked a protest on its hinges, spider-webs thick and clumped together like moss on trees, the flagstone floor fairly carpeted in grime and mold. The wind hissed through the narrow apertures, and Arthur wondered if this was the source of Merlin's noise. There was no one there, but that seemed to heighten the young sorcerer's tension, not lessen it. The knights once again positioned themselves around his perimeter.

He sheathed his sword and strode to the firepit in the center of the room, a shallow iron bowl fully three feet in diameter. It was soot-blackened, and the ashes at the bottom were new, not packed and hardened by long exposure. From force of habit, Arthur reached into them for an experimental handful.

"Seems part of Joseph's story was true," he commented. "Probably just travelers passing through."

"Or maybe not." He turned to look at Merlin, who'd come halfway to the wide fire-basin, before hunkering down on his heels. He was looking at the floor, and pointed.

Arthur took a step back, crouching down himself to see what his friend indicated. There were regular gaps in the dust on the floor, he traced one with his forefinger and recognized it for a man's footprint, its mate next to it. He straightened again and circled the firepit, counting. Seven. Seven pairs of feet had stood surrounding the iron basin long enough for that much grime to accumulate, to discolor the floor all around – three hundred years? he reminded himself – but the owners of the feet had departed recently enough that no dust had filled the tracks.

He met Merlin's eyes. "The Knights of Medhir will ride again," the young sorcerer said hollowly.

"Yes, but…" Arthur said.

Merlin understood. "Who has woken them, and where have they gone?" he said, his tone reflecting the same grim apprehension Arthur felt.

…..*…..

They entered the citadel of Camelot through the postern gate, rather than traveling through the lower town, tired and saddle-sore and all of them preoccupied with gloomy thoughts. But the scene that met them drove the mystery of Idirsholas out of Merlin's mind, at least.

The courtyard was littered with red-cloaked bodies, a few brown-clad servants also. He leaped down from his horse, a red-cloaked flurry behind him as the knights did the same, but Arthur was the first to bend over the nearest body.

"Check them," Arthur ordered, and the knights abandoned their mounts – well-trained to stand still in such a situation – to follow his order. "And one of you, take the guard's position at the drawbridge."

"Are they dead?" Merlin asked, moving on to the next prone figure, feeling for the pulse in his neck, visually checking the chainmail-clad knight for the blood of a wound.

"No, they're breathing," Arthur answered, sitting back on his heels to scan the courtyard.

It was eerily silent, so much like the dead courtyard of the abandoned fortress they'd visited that Merlin shuddered. "What happened to them?" he asked softly, and though it was a rhetorical question, Arthur answered.

"I don't know." The prince surged to his feet, jogging forward.

Merlin saw what had caught his attention only a moment later. Morgana, clad in her green silk dress, had risen from a huddled shadow on the grand stair in the shadow of the mounted statue. "What's going on?" Arthur called out to his sister.

Morgana was pale and weary, her eyes red-rimmed, her face showing other signs that she'd been crying. "They're all fast asleep," she told them. "Everyone, everywhere."

"Father?" Arthur said urgently.

"In his room; he was the first one to feel unwell." Morgana took her brother's hand in a rare request for reassuring contact, but Arthur didn't seem to take much notice, pulling her along with him as they hurried up the stairs to enter the citadel.

Merlin followed them down corridors and up stairs, passing more bodies. It did indeed look like everyone had simply lain down and fallen asleep, arms and legs curled comfortably, not splayed or contorted as would be the case if the person had fallen or writhed in pain before losing consciousness. An illness? or magic? The sleeping spell he was familiar with worked one at a time – for someone to use such a thing in an attack made no sense. Surely they would be discovered before using the spell on more than a dozen, and it would take a very strong sorcerer to be able to perform the spell on this many people. A potion, maybe, something like Morgana's sleeping draught? Brewed and dumped into the city's water supply in very large amounts? Still, someone should have caught on to the threat before _everyone_ was affected by the water.

Arthur released Morgana as he flung open the door to their father's chamber. Merlin had never been inside, and didn't venture to enter now, waiting in the doorway as the prince hurried to Uther's side, where he was slumped over a sheaf of papers on his desk.

"See, he's all right," Merlin said, relieved. If someone had done this deliberately, the king would be the natural and first target.

Arthur pulled his father upright to show the king's face slack and unaware. "He is not _all right_," the prince growled at them.

"He's just asleep," Merlin said, glancing at Morgana, who nodded. "All we have to do is find a cure, a way to wake them."

Arthur gazed down at his father, slack-jawed and limply hanging over the back of his chair, before lifting inscrutable blue eyes to his sister. "Morgana, I don't understand," he said softly, "Why is it you're the only person awake?"

Morgana gave him a quick, frightened look, and he found himself stumbling over the first explanation that came to his mind. "Magic," he said. "Her magic must be protecting her from the influence of whatever this is."

Arthur gave him a disgusted glare, and he winced, knowing the prince didn't believe him – _he_ didn't believe himself. Something like this wouldn't happen on accident – and since when did catastrophes ever happen on accident in Camelot? – and if done deliberately, why would the mysterious instigator stay hidden, or be so careless as to let magic-users walk free?

"You two, go to Gaius, do whatever you have to do to figure out what this is," Arthur decided. "I'm going to join our half-dozen guards, maintain some sort of security on the citadel." He looked down at the slumbering king again, and laid his father gently back onto the desk. "And be quick about it," he said. "We're more vulnerable here every moment that goes by."

The prince strode past him, and Merlin followed, hearing the swish of Morgana's silk behind him. Arthur said nothing further, and didn't glance back at him even when their ways parted. Merlin waited until they were at the last stairway that ended at Gaius' chambers.

"You know what really happened, don't you," he said over his shoulder to Morgana. He pushed the door open, his eyes going immediately to the figure of his mentor, lying asleep on his arms on his desk in an position very similar to the one they'd found the king in.

"I'm sorry," Morgana said in a small voice, sounding miserable.

Merlin couldn't help going to check on the old physician – his pulse was strong, his breathing deep and even. Asleep. Then he turned and looked at the princess.

"I think it's my fault," she went on, still leaning against the inside of the closed door. "I write to my sister once in a while, though she's usually too busy to respond. Last week I wrote to tell her that the bracelet she gave me – the one for blocking my dreams? – wasn't working anymore." She bit her lip, embarrassed. "It's not true, but I thought – maybe she'd come to visit again."

So Morgause was involved, somehow. But he didn't have the time or energy to try to figure out what she might be planning. "And then?" he prompted gently.

"She wrote me back, she sent a sleeping spell I might try."

Merlin cocked his head curiously. He'd never heard of such a thing that would work on one's own self. "Do you still have the spell?" he asked.

"Yes." She pulled out a tiny slip of paper that had been tucked inside her sleeve, and crossed the room to hand it to him. "It didn't work, not like it was supposed to. I tried it, just after the noon meal. I thought, the middle of the day would be best to see if it truly worked… but it didn't. And then, when I left my room, everyone was…"

Merlin read the script on the slip, _Acene slaep swilce cwalu_. The letters were archaic and formal, looking as though the High Priestess had set them down by magic rather than writing them out by hand. He wondered what Morgause had written in whatever note had accompanied the spell.

"I was supposed to repeat it three times," Morgana said. "I think… maybe I got the pronunciation wrong, or something?"

He rubbed the slip between his fingers. No, she'd done the spell exactly right; it had the intended effect. Now, what did Morgause plan to do with a sleeping Camelot? He thought immediately of the missing knights of Medhir – but how could Morgause hope to accomplish the overthrow of their land while her sister remained awake? It made no sense; Morgana would never go along with that. He hoped that Arthur could manage with half a dozen men to hold Camelot if any more tangible threat should approach; he hoped that he and Morgana could manage to fix this quickly.

Merlin moved around the princess to the shelf of books beside the desk. "Try this one," he said, handing her one of the two books he thought most likely to contain a counter-spell. He took a second volume to the table, seating himself sideways to lean against the wall and stretch his legs out on the bench, ankles crossed. She perched on the stool Gaius used when tending a patient lying on the bed, holding the book open on her knees. "Morgana," he said after a moment, flipping through the pages he had more familiarity with than her, then glancing up to meet her eyes. "It's likely, since you performed the enchantment, you'll need to be the one to lift it."

She looked startled, then scared, then determined. For several moments, the only sound in the room was the soft whisper of turning pages. Then she said, so low that he wasn't sure she was speaking to him at all, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I know," he said, turning the next page. He rested his elbow on the table beside him, pushing his fingers through his hair and leaned his head against his palm.

"It's just – nobody ever asks me what I want," she burst out suddenly, green eyes blazing. "Sometimes I hate who I am, that I don't have any choices. Arthur's got to find a wife in a year, but at least he can ask whoever he wants to, whoever Father approves of – what about me? I have to wait for someone to ask, and then say no and no again, and if someone nice ever does ask me, then I have to tell him about my magic! And about that - you get to study magic all day long –"

He opened his mouth to argue that he never had more than an hour a day - if that, and never all at once - due to the busyness of the life of a physician's apprentice, but didn't get the chance.

"While I have to hide and sneak to read a single page of that book you gave me, hoping no one notices!"

"You could just tell him," Merlin murmured, but couldn't tell if she hadn't heard him, or if she had and just chose to ignore him.

"It feels like my future is all laid out for me, and none of it is of my making!"

Merlin gave her a wry smile, giving her a few moments to calm herself again before he ventured, "I'm sure Arthur feels that way at times."

She snorted in annoyance, but didn't contradict him. "And you?"

He felt his grin deepen of its own accord. "My life has been _prophesied_," he told her dryly. "Morgana… I don't mean to be rude, but I don't think you're looking at this the right way. I think you're underestimating your importance." Princess of Camelot and all that notwithstanding, Kilgarrah had once implied that Morgana's choices lay very close to the heart of destiny. Her eyebrow arched, and he blurted, "The decisions you make now will change the shape of everything that is to come."

Now her eyebrows drew together. "What do you mean?" she demanded.

He moved his hand to rub his eye, trying to recall what his mentor had said upon his return from the tragic expedition to retrieve the Crystal of Neahtid, a fortnight ago. "Gaius told me, our own decisions shape the future. And… even when it seems like everything's out of your hands, you still have control over the way you react to your situation – whether you accept it, or struggle against it, whether you're angry or whether you make the best of it cheerfully."

She was giving him the sort of amused smile she usually reserved for Arthur whenever he showed unexpected maturity. "And this?" she said, gesturing to indicate the problem of the widespread slumber.

"I think I may have a few spells to try," he said, stifling a yawn, just as Arthur pushed through the door.

He looked pale and tired himself, and didn't hesitate to flop himself down on the bench opposite Merlin. "I've assigned the six men who were with us to various strategic points around the citadel," he said, "but they're already beginning to feel the effects. They can only resist so long." He rubbed a hand over his face, glistening with perspiration.

"Are you all right?" Merlin said, leaning forward across the table.

Arthur looked at him, not just into his eyes, but as if he was taking in the whole of Merlin's face, and a small wrinkle appeared between his brows. "Are you feeling the same?"

Merlin stared back at him. "We're getting sick," he said stupidly.

"We can't let that happen," Arthur said determinedly, then looked over at his sister, still sitting on Gaius' stool with the book open on her lap. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, though Merlin had never seen her look so frightened. "I'm fine," she managed.

Arthur put his elbow on the table, tilted his hand to point at his sister. "I can always tell when you're lying," he said, and then his look encompassed both of them. "I thought having magic meant you wouldn't be affected."

"She's not affected because…" Merlin gave his head a little shake. His mind felt foggy and slow, a few moments detached from the reality his senses told him of.

"I'm not affected because I'm responsible," Morgana admitted, deflating. She met Arthur's astonished look pink with embarrassment. "I cast the spell."

"You?" Arthur said, and she nodded. He glanced at Merlin, then back to his sister. "Then lift it!"

"We're trying to find the right counter-spell," Merlin explained.

"And have you found a solution?" the prince demanded.

He pushed himself up from the bench, stumbling as his limbs were slow to obey, and positioned himself facing Gaius. He motioned for Morgana to stand and join him. "This should wake him," he said.

Morgana read the spell, following his finger down the phrase. "_Ic acwice the_." The old man jerked upright, gaze and grin wide but vacant.

"Gaius!" Arthur exclaimed in relief.

Merlin repeated the name as a question. "Gaius?" He leaned forward to wave his hand in front of his mentor's face – not a flinch or flicker of life. "All right," he said, looking back down at the book in his hand, and turning a page. "Oh – we could try this."

She gave him a despairing look, but mumbled through the spell. He corrected her once, and she pronounced, "_Ic the bebiede thaet thu ne slaepest!"_

The chair behind the desk that Gaius' body rested in splintered suddenly and violently, and the old man was dumped backward unceremoniously. Morgana squeaked, and Merlin froze his mentor in midair much as he'd done his first day in Camelot. Gaius was much too close to the floor for the bed again, but – Merlin called the pillow and blanket from the patient bed to pad the physician's fall, then released the hold of his magic. Gaius thumped to the floor still slumbering in oblivion.

"Don't ever tell him I did that," Morgana moaned.

It would have been extremely taxing for her to go around Camelot reviving people one by one, anyway, if not impossible, Merlin knew. "Did you find anything?" he asked, indicating the book she still held.

"Well, one, but…" She hesitated, and he gestured for her to try. She gave him an apologetic look, and spoke, "_Brimstream_!" A gout of water appeared from thin air, splashing down on the old man, without effect. "No good," she said in exasperation, and laid the book aside to pick up a cloth and kneel to dry Gaius' face.

Merlin returned to collapse onto the bench again. Arthur dropped his hands into his face and sighed. "How are you feeling?" Merlin asked.

"Not bad," Arthur mumbled through his fingers.

"You sure?" The glimmer of an idea sparked around the edges of his mind, but he had the feeling that Arthur could not be allowed to succumb before it was realized.

"Yeah. I'm just going to check on the six knights still guarding us." Arthur didn't move; Merlin couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not. "You?"

Merlin snorted. "Never better."

Arthur let his hands drop down to rest on his forearms, and his head quickly followed. "You couldn't get me a pillow, could you?"

"Don't mess around," Merlin told him. "Arthur, you – Arthur?" The prince didn't respond, so Merlin raised his voice. "You need to stay awake!" The sight of Arthur resting on his arms on the table was so like the sleeping forms of both the king and the physician that fear made him lose his temper, and he smacked Arthur on the back of the head with more real force than the prince had ever used in teasing him.

"Merlin!" Arthur growled, jumping back and gaining his feet at the same time.

"That's better," Merlin told him crossly, pushing himself up also. "We need you, you have to stay awake."

Arthur reached to touch the back of his head, darkly incredulous at Merlin's daring. "If you ever do that again…" he threatened, poking his finger at Merlin's face.

"Well, don't fall asleep, then!" Merlin shot back. Morgana stepped into view beside him, looking between them, uncertain and unhappy.

Arthur swayed on his feet, then turned and lurched to the corner. Lifting the dipper from the water bucket, he splashed it in his face, then shook his head vigorously, scattering droplets. "Right," he said, turning back to them. "What now?"

What now, what now? Time was running out. They had minutes, maybe, until only Morgana was left awake… and Merlin had the idea that this was a spell that would not wear off harmlessly. And then? Perhaps Morgana would have to call on her sister for help, leaving the king and prince of Camelot humiliated and beholden to the High Priestess. Or maybe Morgana would be forced to leave her home, a fugitive alone… maybe death would overtake them one by one as lack of nourishment caused their bodies to simply quit.

It was one thing, he knew, to cast a spell to put everyone to sleep. But to maintain it… Morgana was the key, of course, but what spell would break the enchantment she'd unknowingly laid?

She gasped, "Arthur!" as a cold shock hit Merlin full in the face, cascading down his shoulders and chest. He blinked at the prince, lowering the empty water-bucket.

"It looked like you fell asleep on your feet," Arthur muttered defensively.

"I was _thinking_," he said caustically, wiping water from his face with now-damp sleeves.

"You can't do that with your eyes open?" Arthur shot back.

"Stop it, both of you," Morgana said. He looked at her, twisting a tiny scrap of paper in her fingers. And the glimmer of his idea became a blaze of hope.

Of course. Might've thought of that sooner, if he didn't feel half a second slow and half a step behind. "Give me that again?" he asked her. She handed it to him wordlessly, and he whispered his own spell. The ink shifted, gathered and spread, and he handed it back, pleased.

She looked down at it. "_Edhwierft slaep swilce cwalu_?" she said. On the floor behind the desk, Gaius stirred. Grumbled, and turned as he often did in bed, when Merlin came in late or left early, disturbing the old man's sleep but not waking him fully. Morgana repeated the spell with emphasis, then a third time, nearly glaring at the figure of the slumbering physician on the floor, but he didn't move again. Merlin's heart sank.

"Well?" Arthur said. He was deathly pale now, his eyes red-rimmed, dark circles around them, his blonde hair streaked with water and his skin damp with sweat. Morgana shook her head, wiping a tear from her face. "How else do you break an enchantment?" the prince demanded.

"By killing the one who cast it," Morgana said in a low voice.

"No," Merlin and Arthur said at the same time.

"What if we just took her out of Camelot?" Arthur suggested.

Merlin shook his head. "I don't know if it would raise the enchantment here, but you and I wouldn't last long, and then she would be on her own, unguarded."

"I can take care of myself," Morgana protested, then gave them a faintly sardonic smile. "Anyone who threatened me would just fall asleep, right?"

"I don't know if that's how it works!" Merlin said vehemently. The repetition of the spell may have added potency, or permanency, he just wasn't sure.

Arthur said slowly, "What about the poison-antidote thing we did to me to lift the troll's enchantment on the king?"

Merlin hesitated, and Morgana looked between them hopefully. "Let me try one more thing," he said. "And then I'm afraid you'll have to do that." It occurred to him to wonder if Arthur would be in any shape to administer an antidote in twenty minutes. Well. Damned if they didn't try, at least.

He stepped forward, beckoned the princess to him. She obeyed, confusion showing on her face. He took her right hand, the one not holding the slip of amended spell, and flattened it against his chest, just over his heart. Arthur took two steps toward them, watching him closely.

"Close your eyes," he told Morgana. "Relax, you can do this. As soon as I finish speaking, you say that spell."

"But –" she said, frowning and trying to pull her hand back.

"I'm going to join my magic to yours for the duration of the spell," he explained to both of them. His heart pounded under her hand; it had been years since he'd seen this done, and never attempted it himself. "You'll be able to draw on my strength for those few moments. Don't be scared, and _don't hesitate_." He gave her a grin to settle and reassure her. "All our futures are in your hands."

She still looked uncertain, but closed her eyes a moment before he did. He spoke slowly, deliberately, opening a one-way channel of magic between them, setting a limit of time only. Silence for the space of a breath, and then she spoke, just as slowly and deliberately, but her voice shook with the power of the spell. "_Edhwierft slaep swilce cwalu!"_

He whispered the words along with her to further cement their link, and felt his magic trickle from him, into her, through her, flowing outward. Spreading. Now pouring, now gushing. He heard a noise of ragged inhalation, and didn't know which of the three of them it was.

The magic pumped from him now in great gouts, reaching to revive every citizen affected, wash away every lingering taint of the spell Morgause had laid through her sister. It was draining him. He contemplated that with a curious detachment; he had not thought that possible. He'd always thought of his magic as a well which never ran dry.

His heartbeat slowed perceptibly, and even with his eyes shut he felt dizzy. Empty. She gasped – the time limit reached, the connection severed. He thought it was enough, reached for the signature of the inimical enchantment, and found nothing.

He opened his eyes, saw a dark blur that was Morgana, saw a light blur that was Arthur. Heard voices – Gaius too? – through the roaring in his ears. Then the floor dropped out from under him and he was falling…

…..*…..

Arthur stood in his father's presence wishing he could sit down.

But his tired mind couldn't think of any way to word the request that wouldn't contain an embarrassing reminder that he had been unusually active all day, while the king and court had all experienced an overall pleasant, albeit involuntary, nap.

And it seemed that Uther, at least, felt the energy of his unintentional rest – or else, the need to prove there had been no lingering effects, though no one else in the room so much as yawned – Uther paced.

Arthur had just finished a report of his activities, detailed and thoughtful through the journey to Idirsholas, then plain and abbreviated, after their arrival in Camelot. They'd found everyone asleep, Merlin had gone to Gaius' chamber to research a counter-spell, Arthur and his companion knights had set what guard they could manage on the citadel, for as long as they could remain unaffected. No enemy had shown themselves, and Merlin had discovered and enacted the cure for the magically-induced slumber.

Maybe, he thought, if he couldn't ask to be allowed to sit, he could at least ask to be allowed a drink?

"Leon," the king said abruptly, "Bring the sorcerer here before us. Immediately."

"Father," Arthur said.

In his memory's eye he watched his sister jerk back from their friend, watched Merlin's body tumble silently and lifelessly to the floor, his own strength and reflexes only equal to slowing the fall, not preventing it. He felt Merlin breathing in his arms and didn't panic, watched Morgana stumble back and drop down on the bench, her outstretched hand shaking.

And then Gaius, grumbling and struggling to his feet, pragmatic as only a physician can be in such circumstances. Checking Merlin first – _He'll be all right with some time to rest, sire, do you think you're able to carry him to his bed?_ – then turning to Morgana – _My lady, how do you feel?_

Hearing in memory his sister's voice, behind him as he maneuvered Merlin's body to his shoulder, pushed himself upright. _We – he allowed me to draw on his magic for the counter-spell. _Over the old man's _Well done_, she went on, _Gaius – I never realized – his power – mine is like a… a drop in a bucket, compared to his._

Arthur steadied himself to climb the three stairs to Merlin's bedroom, feeling the young sorcerer's lanky limbs flop against him, and allowed himself a rueful grin. Merlin had told him, after the magic he'd performed at the battle of Dinas Emrys – he'd used so much, but not everything. He found he was still completely unworried about what this young man might choose to do with his magic.

"Father," Arthur repeated, "I'm not sure he's in any condition to answer your summons."

Gaius had kept Morgana also to administer some form of tonic, informing Arthur that she would likely be sent straight to bed. He had the vague intention of speaking to her later – he himself had been faced with the realization that his carelessness had endangered the lives of everyone in Camelot, before. Not an easy thing.

The moments lengthened.

Arthur began to consider if the consequences of seating himself in the king's presence while the king was standing – all right, pacing – was worth it. If he fainted like a girl from such a minor irritation as exhaustion, not only would he never hear the end of it from Merlin, he also wouldn't be present for whatever Uther wanted the young sorcerer for.

Gaius arrived first. "Your majesty, I must protest," the old man said sternly, stalking to the middle of the floor and performing a perfunctory bow. "My apprentice is suffering the ill effects of this afternoon's exertions, and to command him out of my care is –"

"Peace, Gaius," Uther said, unrelenting. "We don't have the luxury of time, to allow for recovery."

One of the two guards sent to bring Merlin appeared at the door, stepping to the side to resume his post. The second – Leon, Arthur saw with relief - entered the audience chamber bent under a skinny, blue-clad arm, his own wrapped around the younger man's weight for support, as if Merlin were drunk or injured. They paused just inside the room, apparently in brief disagreement, before Leon released Merlin's arm and stepped back. Merlin took a moment and a breath, then moved forward slowly to stand before the king, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed deferentially.

"Merlin," Uther acknowledged him. "While we appreciate that your efforts to break the foul enchantment have tired you, the fact remains that we must pursue the sorcerer responsible for this shocking attack on our kingdom." The king looked then at Gaius. "Can it be done, to uncover the secret of the identity of the caster of this spell?"

Merlin lifted his head suddenly; Arthur hoped that if his friend felt the same pang of anxiety for Morgana as he did, he'd be able to control his features so as to give nothing away. But Uther followed Gaius' glance swiftly to Merlin's face, and took a quick step closer.

"Ah! You know who it is already, don't you? Or at least you suspect?" There was a pause of silence, which quickly become unbearably uncomfortable. "Come on, out with it," the king added, "surely you have no wish to harbor an enemy of Camelot."

"No, my lord," Merlin said. His voice was low but clear. "But in this instance, I cannot in good conscience reveal the one who spoke the enchantment, though I can assure you, no harm was intended." Merlin had taken the blame for the smoke-figures conjured during Bayard's visit, also; Arthur clenched his jaw. How long could they keep hiding a secret of this magnitude?

"Cannot or will not?" Uther demanded. This was the point in the tirade when Arthur usually stopped trying to reason and simply accepted his father's words to bring the interview to a swifter close.

Merlin didn't answer, but didn't drop the king's gaze, either.

Uther leaned toward him and hissed, "You treacherous, arrogant bastard." He drew back. "I knew it. I knew it would happen, sooner or later. Blood will tell, and the blood of a _dragonlord_…"

"My lord," Gaius protested. "Merlin has just saved us all –"

"Sorcery ever twists the mind and motivation," Uther declared, turning away. "This only proves that I was right not to trust magic."

"Not to trust magic?" Merlin spoke then, and both older men turned to look at him. "Not to trust magic? Does a miller trust his river? He respects it, channels it carefully, harnesses its power for the benefit of all – knowing that occasionally a flood may cause the river to rise dangerously. Does the builder trust the stones he works with? He trusts his skill and experience, to handle his materials properly and safely and raise a structure to provide lasting shelter! Do your knights trust their metal – their armor, their shields, their swords? Or do they trust the man who made it, the reputation of many years of reliable results? Do you trust in the equipment of your army, in the water of the river, or the stone of the castle? Or do you trust the honor, the loyalty of the men who use these resources, who understand and wield and control –" Merlin cut himself off with a twitch of startled self-consciousness and straightened, taking his eyes from the king.

Arthur couldn't manage a word, not while he was holding his breath. Gaius' eyebrow could climb no higher; Uther looked astonished.

"You speak of honor and loyalty, boy," the king said softly, "and then provide anonymity for the enemies of the land where you live and the ruler that provides? Is there anyone in this room who trusts _your_ honor and loyalty?"

Merlin stared him in the face for several moments, then turned to walk to Arthur's side, still not looking away from the king.

There were times that Merlin's thoughts or feelings were so clear on his face that it seemed a stranger could read them easily. And then there were times that the young sorcerer seemed the stranger, and Arthur hadn't a clue to his intentions.

He watched bemusedly as Merlin met his eyes, then sank to the floor. Not in a loss of consciousness from weariness, which would have been understandable. Not even to both knees, like a peasant pleading for mercy or aid. No, to one knee the sorcerer dropped deliberately, his head inclined, as a knight before the king, dedicating his life to service, waiting for his sovereign's acceptance or rejection.

Something about it felt so _wrong_ that Arthur immediately reached for a handful of Merlin's favorite blue shirt. "Get up, you idiot!" he hissed. And to the hurt and confusion in Merlin's eyes, he added in a low voice only the two of them could hear, "How would you feel if _I_ knelt to _you_!"

"I see," the king said coldly, and they both turned, Merlin on one knee and Arthur bent over with a hand on his shoulder. "He is _your_ ally, Arthur. As ever. Then I leave it to you to deal with him – I want that name by sundown."

"You may have it now, Father." Morgana spoke into the silence of the shocked room, clearly and resolutely. As she came forward, lifting her head as she always did when opposing their father, Merlin pushed to his feet and Arthur released him. "It was me. I did the spell. I have magic."

Gaius closed his eyes for a moment. Uther appeared thunderstruck, and finally managed, "I beg your pardon?"

"I believe you heard me."

Arthur wished suddenly that Morgana would not have chosen here and now – in public, her defiance would provoke his judgment; in private they could both be softer and more genuine, he had seen it. It was one way they were both too much alike.

"My nightmares have foretold the future several times, it is the ability of a seer. And I have learned to do many things with my magic." She paused as if to give him some warning, a moment to collect his thoughts. Then she pulled a ring from her hand, gave it a little toss into the air, where it stuck and stayed without support.

Uther stared at her for a moment; he was so close he could not deny that gleam of gold in Morgana's eyes when she performed the magic. Then he raised his voice. "Guards! Arrest –" he pointed – "him." To Merlin.

Arthur and Gaius said, "No!" at the same time.

Morgana didn't even flinch. "Don't blame Merlin, Father," she said softly. "My sister is the High Priestess, it would have been a wonder if I couldn't do magic."

"Your sister," Uther repeated. To anyone else he would appear unfeeling and heartless, but Arthur knew he was merely hiding the shock. And grief.

Morgana said, more formally, "I will be leaving Camelot at first light tomorrow, to join my sister on the isle of the priestesses, to study magic." Uther's mask cracked slightly, and Morgana must have seen it too, for she reached to lay her hand on his sleeve. "I hope I shall always be welcome to return to Camelot to visit?" Arthur's heart ached; he couldn't have kept back then if he'd tried, joining his father and half-sister. "And I shall always be your daughter," Morgana added in a whisper. She grasped Arthur's hand and stood on tiptoe to kiss their father's cheek – something he didn't know if she'd ever done before, since he'd never seen it – and turned to leave.

No one said anything. Uther reached up to pluck the forgotten ring, and held it tight in his fist, as Morgana walked away.

**A/N: The spell is the one Morgause originally placed on Morgana in the beginning of this ep. And the counter-spell is essentially the same, but with one word changed to mean "reverse", my own translation…**

**Okay. We're pretty far away from the series 'verse now, and I expect you all realize ep.2.13 (The Last Dragonlord) doesn't have much in common with my a/u. But I do have a handful of scenes I want to write to tie up some of the threads here before I start part 2, **_**The Tower of Lionys.**_** If there's anything you think I should address before concluding this, please do feel free to remind me (I might've forgotten some of the points I wanted to hit before the end)… **

LCT, it's been bothering me that I can't respond to your reviews like I do for most of them, when it suddenly struck me, I could probably get away with doing this. So… I'm confirming nothing about the visions Merlin sees in the crystal (although all three will come into play in my next story)… it was too good an opportunity, when obviously Merlin won't see himself freeing Kilgarrah only to have him attack Camelot… and I have an endgame (of sorts) in mind for Morgause as well but that won't come til the _very_ end.


	23. Aurelian

**2:13 Aurelian**

Merlin's sleep was anything but restful.

His body was exhausted from the trip to Idirsholas, the strain of resisting the effects of the sleeping enchantment, the draining of his strength to help Morgana's counter-spell succeed. His magic was quiet in its depletion, but the sense of it rising, warming and filling him once again, proved energizing rather than lulling. And his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Memories and fears, doubts about the past, discomfort with the present, towering uncertainty with the future.

Mordred was dead, Morgana gone. Were those accomplishments or failures? Was it possible to look back on one event and call it both? The power of his magic did not mean that the responsibility of death and life, dark and light, despair and hope, rested entirely on him, as often as it _felt_ like that. Mordred had choices, so did Morgana.

_ None of it is of my making… Blood will tell… The prophecy of the soul of magic and the becoming prince is a precursor to other prophecies… I don't want to know… A sorcerer, a dragonlord, not interested in his heritage?..._

When he woke properly, he guessed the time to be a few hours on from noon. He threw off his blanket, tangled and limp with the sweat of his nightmares, as were the clothes he'd slept in, and stood on the narrow table on the far side of his bedroom to lean out the small window.

The air smelled fresh and clean, the chill sharp but pleasant, the calming bustle of the lower town in industrious full swing. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly – this view helped immeasurably, a reminder as always. This was what his magic was for ultimately, this made the sacrifices and the burden worth bearing – happiness and safety and prosperity, beginning with Camelot and spreading ever outwards, as far as possible. It was just a beginning, a promise of what would come under Arthur's reign.

He squinted into the light blue sky just over the far treetops comprising the horizon, and caught a flicker of motion not unlike a reflection. The distance and the lack of color made him suspect, _Aithusa_?

_Merlin_! he heard the white dragon respond.

_You run a risk, flying that high in daylight._

_ No one should notice but you_, Aithusa responded, his telepathic tone a mix of defiance and amusement. And then, _Merlin, are you all right?_

Never could hide much from the dragons. _It's been a hard month_.

The speck on the horizon twinkled, as though Aithusa had performed one of his aerial acrobatics, the high thin sunlight sparkling from the white scales. _Come fly with me, then! It has been too long, my brother – winter is coming, are you going to visit Ealdor, Dinas Emrys this year?_

Merlin found himself swallowing a painful lump in his throat, blinking back moisture that welled in his eyes. _Not anytime soon_, he responded. He wanted so badly to join them, to leave behind questions of fate and accountability, kings and priestesses and thinking out the consequences of his choices four and five steps ahead. But if he left Camelot and went to the dragons now, Uther would believe himself vindicated in his bigotry, and possibly never trust him.

That in itself didn't bother Merlin much, Uther trusted no one fully except himself. But he hated that Arthur was torn between them – the closer he could come to the king, the easier it would be on his friend.

_Tell me now, then._ The white dragon had vanished from his sight, probably coming to land somewhere in the far forest, for rest or sustenance.

_I've lost two people this month._

_ Friends?  
_ Or enemies? He said, _Yes. And I don't honestly know, if I could go back, if I would change anything. _He never wanted harm to come to the druid boy, but had to admit to a certain relief that there would be no more warnings, no more worrying about the danger Mordred might pose, intentionally or otherwise, to Arthur. He never wanted Morgana to leave Camelot, _never_ wanted her under the unrestricted influence of the manipulative High Priestess – never wanted her to find out what her older sister was capable of. But he could imagine how free she felt, how happy and eager to pursue an education in magic, no matter where the course took her, higher in the strata of the sorceress' society, or to some marriage beneficial to the Pendragons and the priestesses, and acceptable to Morgana herself.

_There's something more_, Aithusa suggested wisely.

_Yes_. The caged girl in white, the chains and torture slab, the crowning of the younger Pendragon sibling. _I have looked into the Crystal of Neahtid. I have had glimpses of the future. And they trouble me_.

_You too?_ Aithusa sounded unconcerned.

Merlin straightened so quickly he bumped his head against the window-frame. _What do you mean, me too?_

_ Aurelian._

_ …_

_ Merlin?_

_ My grandfather? He used the crystal?_

_ Not that one._ Merlin remembered that Morgause also possessed a crystal of power, and wondered how many there were, somewhere in the world. _What did Kilgarrah tell you?  
_ Merlin thought back. It had been a hurried, middle-of-the-night conversation, yet a few details had stuck in his memory – of no use at the moment, but still potentially important. _To those who know how to use it, the crystal holds great knowledge, _he answered. _ What about Aurelian, then?_

_ There is a cave, in the valley of the fallen kings, whence the crystal that resides in the vaults of Camelot was taken. Aurelian journeyed there when the war seemed sure to drive my kin to extinction. He used the crystals at the heart of power, the very birthplace of magic itself, to look into the future to find answers and hope._

_ What did he see?_

_ Dinas Emrys._

Merlin found himself almost breathless with the same longing that had taken him by surprise in the clearing, to see his grandfather. To tell him of the prophecy's fulfillment, the dragons' freedom. To ask him…

What is, what has been, what is yet to come… amongst other things…

_Aithusa_, he said. _The crystal, the visions – can they be directed to show what the viewer wishes to see?_ And not random sharp confusing glimpses of the future?

_Oh, yes. All is available to one with enough power and strength of will. Though it is_ – the dragon's hesitation was clear – _not safe, to look to the future. Taking action based upon auguries is a very risky business. Every event depends on such a chain of circumstances and causation that in acting you can forge the vital link that brings about the very catastrophe you are trying to avoid_. *

An idea began to form in Merlin's mind, but was interrupted by the voice of his mentor.

"Oy, didn't your mother ever teach you anything about standing on the furniture?" Gaius said with gruff vexation.

_Thank you, Aithusa._

_ Any time, my lord_. There was impudence mixed with respect in the white dragon's thought-voice that both exasperated and flattered Merlin.

He ducked back inside the room to grin at his mentor standing just inside the door. "My mother said, when I had my own place and my own furniture, I could do what I liked with it," he returned with a touch of impudence.

"Well, who says that's your table," Gaius questioned sternly, though not without the glint of humor that told Merlin the old man wasn't really angry. Merlin obediently dropped to the ground, as Gaius added, "Since you seem to be fully rested up, and feeling fine otherwise, why don't you come get something to eat."

…..*…..

It wouldn't be long before the first snow of the season fell. Arthur could smell it in the air, a prickly frostiness of change coming, rather more exhilarating than frightening. He matched his black leather riding gloves together and slapped them against his left palm as he took the stairs to the physician's quarters two at a time.

It was mildly surprising and mildly disturbing to hear his father's whereabouts when he'd gone to report on the morning's patrol, but a full day had passed since the momentous confrontation in the throne room, and Uther had not taken action against the young man who was druid and dragonlord and sorcerer. Hadn't so much as referred to any of that day's events, except to follow up on the questions of Idirsholas.

Gaius' chamber door was ajar when he approached, and hearing his father's voice, he stopped before he came into view, as much to avoid interruption as to eavesdrop a bit. No, not eavesdropping, he corrected himself. Scouting.

"…Allegiance of the druids… dragonlords as enemies, always." Uther's voice was uncharacteristically quiet; usually the king cared little who heard him, as everything he said was always _right_. "… Camelot's border, as defined in the treaty with Cenred… I understand I am not… loyalty to Arthur is my concern… explain?"

"Dinas Emrys, my lord." It was Merlin who spoke in response to the king, not Gaius, and unlike Uther's, his words carried clearly to Arthur's ears. "What we did there, what we went through… my lord, the way I see it, my magic was given to me that I might serve the people of Albion – fate has decided that the best way of doing this is through the once and future king. _Arthur_. But even if he were only a knight, or the son of a lord, or a stable-boy, I believe he and I would be friends and comrades in service to whoever _was_ the once and future king of Albion, and I would _still_ live my life at his side and happily risk death to protect him from it!"

There was silence. Arthur struggled to breathe properly with his heart threatening to expand and lift right out of his chest through his throat. He was glad the hall and stair were empty; he was sure the look on his face was – unusual.

Uther spoke again, "My many years of battle have taught me that survival and victory are often lost through unexpected betrayal. I have learned to make betrayal impossible by trusting no one – by believing that every man has his price. I have met – very few, young man, in all my many years, of whom that is not true."

"Your majesty, I ask but the chance to continue proving that my loyalty is and always will be to Arthur," Merlin returned with controlled intensity.

Another long pause. Arthur wished he could look into the room, watch the two men move or stand still, see the expressions on the faces of the king and sorcerer.

"Granted," the king said finally. "In the spring Arthur will leave Camelot in the company of our most trusted knights and will not return until midsummer. He will be more vulnerable on this journey to any number of threats, than he has been since the battle you just spoke of. I expect to welcome him home with no additional scarring – have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, my lord. I will go with him."

Arthur had two seconds to collect himself; he'd been unconsciously waiting for a more definitive parting, and forgot that the king had every right to dispense with such. Especially when speaking to a sorcerer, apparently. He leaped down several stairs, caught wildly at balance, then twisted about as if he were only just coming up the steps, as Uther closed the door of the physician's chamber behind him.

"Ah, Arthur," he said, and Arthur stayed where he was, adopting an attitude of respect. "Back so soon? What have you to report?" Uther continued descending the stairs unhurriedly.

"We picked up a trail of horsemen just east of Idirsholas," Arthur said, following. "There was some disagreement among our more experienced trackers as to whether there were seven or eight of them altogether."

"What did Sir Leon say?"

"Leon said eight. That makes sense, if the riders were indeed the seven Knights of Medhir. And one sorcerer."

"Continue."

"We lost them at the river," Arthur admitted. "I divided our party and the scouts and searched both banks in either direction for several miles, but it's possible they used a boat or a raft –"

"With eight horses?" Uther's tone was skeptic.

"A barge could manage easily – travel would be swifter, especially to a downstream destination. In any case, it seems they are no longer on Camelot's lands."

"Hm." The king halted at the base of the staircase, and turned to face him. "Double the night guard, and increase the frequency of patrols to the east, as the weather allows." Arthur nodded, and as he turned to go, his father laid a hand on his shoulder. "Arthur, I haven't had a chance to say this, but… thank you."

He recognized Morgana's ring on Uther's smallest finger, and simply nodded again, watching his father turn and walk away. They hadn't discussed his half-sister, her revelation or her destination, but four knights had been waiting at dawn yesterday with instructions to escort her, as was customary for her at this season. Only this year, she would not be making the journey to her mother's estate in the south. He hoped the silence would not stretch into permanency, but for now, he recognized that it was better not to raise the topic for conversation. Uther needed time to adjust. At least he'd seen fit to address Merlin and ensure harmony there.

Arthur turned and took the stairs two at a time, entering with only a quick knock. Merlin was quietly busy with mortar and pestle at the work-table, while a beaker suspended over a candle bubbled and a slender rod stirred another mixture in a wide wooden bowl on its own. Merlin gave him a quick upward glance of acknowledgement.

"Well, it's nice to see your eyes open, lazybones," Arthur said, seating himself on the end of the nearest bench. There was some color back in the younger man's face, too – it was sobering to think what such a large outpouring of magic meant for the young sorcerer's health.

"How was the patrol?" Merlin said absently. His movements were perfunctory, accomplishing a task Arthur had seen him do a hundred times, that required no thought, just a steady, consistent hand.

"Lost the trail at the river." Merlin hummed noncommittally, his gaze fixed, but not quite on his work. Arthur leaned forward. "What's on your mind?" he said. Merlin's lips quirked in a small smile, but otherwise he gave no sign that he'd heard the question.

The missing Knights? The unknown sorcerer who'd raised them? Morgana, or Uther? The dragons, the druids, or Ealdor and Hunith? All or none, maybe.

"Come on, you can tell me," Arthur goaded him. "You trust me, right?"

Merlin did roll his eyes then, and the little grin remained in place. "Some things are better left unsaid," he told Arthur.

Arthur snorted. Then he remembered how Merlin had differentiated between his role as a prince, and himself as a person; Merlin had never hesitated to state the most outrageous truths to him as a warning of danger, but perhaps there were things he felt he couldn't say to the son of the king.

"If I wasn't a prince, would you tell me?"

A diabolical gleam shot from the younger man's glance. "If you weren't a prince, I'd tell you to mind your own damn business."

Arthur bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud, but figured one good taunt deserved another. "Are you missing Morgana?" he said, with mock sympathy. Although it was a very real possibility; he couldn't say that he was entirely easy with the thought of his sister studying with the likes of Morgause.

Merlin only hummed thoughtfully. "She's stronger than people think. I believe she'll be all right."

What was it, then? Merlin looked like a man steeling himself to a distasteful job, or… "You look like you're plotting to commit a crime, or something," he teased, and the look his friend turned on him, startled eyes wide and guilt clear in ever line, had Arthur on his feet. "You are! Merlin – tell me what you're thinking about doing right now, that's an order!"

"I won't involve you," Merlin said obstinately.

"I'll just have to assign a pair of guards to –" A slight twitch of Merlin's lips had him rethinking that option, in light of the sorcerer's abilities. "I'm going to stand watch on you myself then, until you tell me what's going on, or give up entirely. You'll have to use magic on _me_ then, if you want to get away with whatever ridiculous crime you're contemplating."

"Don't think I won't," Merlin threatened, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.

"What if I guess it?" Arthur said, leaning over the table on his tented fingers.

Merlin scoffed, but allowed, "Maybe." Mischief warred with gravity in his expression, as though he really intended to keep this secret from Arthur, most likely for his own safety or some such nonsense.

"You're going to murder the king," Arthur said.

Merlin snorted. "To even suggest that is treason."

"So I've just broken the law and made you culpable as well for hearing it and not reporting me," Arthur shot back. "Your turn."

"Not a chance." The younger man was fighting a grin, now.

"All right." Arthur rubbed his hands together as if facing a challenge. "You're planning on – setting fire to Geoffrey's library."

"Sacrilege!" Merlin protested, snickering.

"Not murder or arson, then?" Arthur said. "Theft?" Merlin dropped his eyes to his work, twisting and grinding, wide grin still in place as he shook his head, and continued to respond in the negative to each of Arthur's guesses. "Father's strongbox? My strongbox? Morgana's jewelry box?"

"She took that with her," Merlin reminded him.

This was getting him nowhere; he resorted to a little less innocent speculation, to provoke a response. It wasn't as if he could let Merlin get away with whatever he wanted to do, if it was against the law in some way, especially if he ended up getting caught. "The vaults, then," he said deliberately.

Merlin exclaimed as he mashed a finger in his mortar, and stuck it in his mouth – Arthur wondered briefly what it was he was crushing, and guessed it wasn't a poison, at least.

"Was it the second sidhe staff you're after?" Arthur said, taking a predatory step forward. Merlin took an involuntary one back. "Or the Mage Stone? Or the Crystal of Nea-" Something in his friend's eyes flared, and Arthur stopped. "You want to steal the Crystal of Neahtid?" he asked blankly.

"Not steal," Merlin said defensively. "Only _use_."

That didn't enlighten Arthur at all. "_Why_?"

…..*…..

Descending the stairs to the vaults, passing by the row of effigy-topped tombs, Merlin thought with amused irony of the reversal of their positions, in comparison to the night Arthur met his mother. This time it was the prince waiting for him, to make sure he didn't go on alone to face a crystal and learn of his past. Although, it was handy not to have to distract the guards or unlock the vault with magic, as he'd originally planned. He only hoped the pair of guards at the distant arched doorway did not think their visit worth mentioning. He didn't fancy explaining this to Uther, or hearing Arthur fabricate a believable story.

"How do you want to do this?" Arthur asked, when Merlin didn't immediately follow him through the unlocked door into the narrow treasure-cell.

"Out here?" Merlin suggested. He wanted to be sitting down when he tried this again.

Arthur sauntered back to the pillow on the pedestal, retrieving the crystal and giving it a casual toss. Merlin backed up to the wall and more slid down it than seated himself, crossing his legs to give Arthur room beside him. The prince joined him on the dusty floor, offering the stone, but Merlin shook his head. Not yet.

"That too," he said, gesturing to a small mirror with an inch-wide mosaic border of jewels. "Set it there."

Arthur made no protest, dragging the mirror into place on the floor, propped against the bars of the vault's enclosure. "What's this for?" he asked only.

"For you," Merlin said. "If this works like I want it to…" Aurelian, and Dinas Emrys, and _whether_ and _how_ these glimpses of the future could be used for good. "You might as well see it too." He took several deep breaths, calming and settling himself as he did before sending out the call to his dragon kin.

"You sure you're strong enough for this?" There was no hint of mockery in Arthur's voice, just a low serious query. It hadn't been two full days yet, since Merlin had collapsed after allowing so much magic to be used to break the enchantment over Camelot.

"That's why we're doing it at midnight." He felt a shiver of nerves, and ran through another series of basic mental exercises the druids had taught him, reminding himself of what he'd learned of the crystal's theory from Aithusa, earlier.

The crystal was inanimate, reflection of reality only. Reality that was past and set, reality that was future and possible. Like any other shiny surface, it could be used the scry the present – any person or thing or place specified by spell-work. It could be used with more direction and determination to reveal scenes of the past, like riffling backward through the pages of a book. If one looked as he had done, from aimless if irresistible curiosity, what would be seen were the chaotic, unconnected scraps that had yet to be inserted into the chronology of reality. Painful because of the mind's instinctive need to place them in context, to discover meaning and cause and effect when that was inherently impossible.

He opened his eyes, lifting the crystal between his face and the mirror, at arms' length. Arthur leaned forward, watching the mirror.

_Arthur lifeless on the floor in his bedchamber, Merlin kneeling next to him with the tiny glass vial of antidote tipped over his parted lips… Arthur's hand trembling with strain, stretching to gently pluck a white blossom with delicate green leaves… Merlin in a downpour of rain, looking upward for the lightning that would defeat Nimueh… Merlin sliding a gleaming blade into a boulder in a glittering cave… Merlin arching his back in agony as a shiny black spine pierced his back… Merlin leaning back as a heavy ax whirled toward his face… Arthur reaching for a goblet on a table on a beach…_

He grunted and clenched his jaw, trying to force the focus. Not just the past, but…

_Merlin collapsing in Arthur's arms as Morgana stepped back in shock… Arthur with blood on the back of his shirt reaching to curl his fingers around the back of Merlin's neck… Arthur lying and Merlin sitting in the same dark courtyard, a glowing blue stone resting in Merlin's hand… Arthur kneeling beside Merlin on a damp hillside, his hand flattened over Merlin's heart… Merlin erupting from the surface of the water, chainmail-clad Arthur clasped to his chest… Each reaching for the other's hand, the grin of delighted first greeting on their faces… _

Better. But further back.

_Each reaching for the other's hand amid the white tents of a knights' camp, Merlin inches shorter than Arthur… Merlin kneeling over Arthur's bloodied body, a blazing inferno behind, the noon sun blazing overhead… Merlin placing his bloodied hand against the dragons' entrance of the cave… Kilgarrah landing on the outcropping to survey them… Blue magelight coating Arthur's palm… Arthur stepping warily into the grove… Merlin sitting shivering half-naked on an uneven block, the dragon charm at his throat… The forested shoulders and bald crown of Dinas Emrys…_

_Ari, Alvarr, Iseldir, Ruadan looking up with expressions of intensity and hope… Iseldir bending over the first tattoo on the wrist of a skinny child with a mop of black hair and ears that stuck out and enormous blue eyes… _

_Hunith, young and radiant though plainly-dressed, moving willingly into the arms of a tall broad-shouldered young man whose black hair was curly… He kissing her and holding her close, his grin over her shoulder so happy it was contagious._

Merlin found himself smiling even as he felt the damp brush of a tear falling down his cheek.

Beside him, Arthur whispered, "You look like your father." His eyes were on the crystal, but he was glad Arthur could see the visions reflected in the mirror also.

Further back.

_A scrawny teenager with unruly black curls and blue eyes sweeping sawdust from a dirt floor, pausing to dab sweat with his sleeve and smile at a plain girl with a green scarf over her hair… The same children, years younger but still recognizable, standing hand-in-hand by a mound of fresh earth, between a kind-eyed peasant man and a woman who looked almost exactly like Hunith._

Merlin recognized the site with a start, and almost lost control of the magic aiming the visions. One grave only; when he visited first, there had been four.

Still further.

_A fat baby with tangled black curls and eyes like blueberries gnawing on a roughly-carven but still identifiable dragon… A man whose face was bearded and lined, his shoulder-length dark hair streaked with gray scooping up the baby, laughing... A dark-haired lady laying one hand on the man's shoulder and gently pinching the baby's chubby cheek with the other…_

_The man whose hair showed no gray, though it looked tangled and unwashed, staggering through darkness, glancing fearfully over his shoulder... The man standing before the mouth of the cave of Dinas Emrys, tears running down his face, the beard only an unshaven shadow on his jaw, hands raised, as rocks and earth moved to seal the entrance…_

_Aurelian, clean-shaven and barely twenty years of age, longish curly hair hiding his ears, sat cross-legged on the floor of a cave gleaming with pale blue magic, the clear hard sparkle of crystals, and at his knee the opaque glow of an egg curiously pointed at one end, leaning forward to search one particular clump of crystals. "Ah!" he whispered to himself._

Merlin wondered if Arthur would be able to hear as well as see.

"_So," Aurelian continued, glancing at the egg. "So you must hatch before you sleep at Dinas Emrys. And I… I will never see you again. I will love, and I will lose. My son will love and lose… and his son will build Albion." Aurelian scrubbed his sleeve across his eyes. "So be it."_

_He turned suddenly as if his attention was snatched unexpectedly, perhaps by another crystal, not the one he had been using._

_And looked directly into Merlin's eyes, startled as Merlin was startled, as though they were both passing a window, one outside and one in, and happened to glance through it at the same time. And connect. His gaze shifted to the side for a moment, as if he could see Arthur as well._

The prince inhaled swiftly and straightened.

"_It is worth it," Aurelian declared, his gaze returning to Merlin. "You are the last dragonlord, you will carry on the ancient gift."_

Merlin ducked his head in a nod, not looking away, unable to keep from smiling though he felt another tear drip from his chin. "It is worth it," he repeated, like a vow.

_Aurelian relaxed. He smiled, he sat back, placing a hand unconsciously on the egg waiting beside him._

Then he was gone.

And Merlin's back slammed into the wall behind him. He gasped for breath and squinted in the sudden brightness of the torchlit vault chamber. He could feel Arthur's hand on his shoulder, and reached blindly to cover it with his own, whether to reassure the prince or to keep the comfort of his touch in place a little longer, he didn't know.

"Incredible," Arthur breathed. "Are you all right?"

He rolled his head to see his becoming prince, his once and future king, hair of sun and gaze of sky. He let out a breathless chuckle, the only answer he was capable of, and rubbed his own sleeve over his eyes.

"He saw us, didn't he?" Arthur marveled. "Right at the end."

Merlin nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Somehow, in scrying the past, he'd formed a link with his grandfather, glimpsing the future.

The stone was cold, the torchlight dim. The silence, sitting there on the dusty floor with Arthur, was soothing. Arthur picked up the crystal from where it had fallen from Merlin's hand; he avoided looking at it but it wasn't difficult, anymore.

"When I gave you this that night in the Forest of Brechfa, you saw something, didn't you?" the prince said.

It was something he couldn't erase from memory. But Aurelian had managed to see good in his future, along with the pain and fear and death – he'd seen love and life and hope and freedom and success and… _It is worth it_. Whoever the girl was, whatever torture he faced, whenever the crown came to Morgana... He had to believe that it would be worth it, in the end.

Arthur rolled the stone from one hand to the other, and gave him a sidelong glance. He said in a tone so even Merlin couldn't read his motives at all, "Couldn't look into the future for me, could you?"

What did he want to know? Merlin's heart thudded one slow beat after another, then sped up. A king who had access to that sort of power – and he'd be fooling himself if he didn't admit the very real danger of becoming addicted to or dependent upon such a tool – could spy on enemies with ease, predict movements, decisions, could see the outcome of a battle before the first arrow flew. Could calculate the success of any endeavor whatsoever while it was still idea.

Yes, they were destined to unite Albion in a peaceful golden age, but… not like this.

"What would you want to see?" he said guardedly.

Arthur's mocking grin pulling at one corner of his mouth. "Couldn't show me my future bride, could you?"

"Arthur!" Merlin scolded, relaxing immediately into a grin of his own.

"At least her hair color?" Arthur persisted in all innocence. He got to his feet to replace the crystal and the mirror.

Merlin said curiously, "Would you really want to know?"

Arthur pulled the barred door shut with a squeal of rusty metal, and considered. "No," he said. "You're right, on second thought, don't tell me. I want to decide without knowing what I'll decide, and don't –" he turned to stick his forefinger into Merlin's face – "tell me that sounds mad, because I know you know what I mean."

Merlin fell in beside him as he retrieved their torch from the wall-sconce and headed for the stairs. Bed sounded good, the peaceful dark, the warm blankets. His kin – the dragons, his mother, Arthur, Gaius, Morgana – all spared for another season.

"Arthur," he said conversationally as they reached the staircase.

"Hm?"

He prepared himself to bolt upward two or three steps at a time to escape the prince. "How do you feel about brunettes?"

"_Merlin_!"

…..The End…..

**A/N: Well, here it is. Final chapter. Hope this wraps up **_**The More Things Change**_** satisfactorily, since no one reminded me of any issues I may have left hanging…**

**Sincerest thanks to everyone who bothered to favorite/follow and especially review (even though this was a lot of repetition from the series)! **

**Going to jump right into the sequel, **_**The Towers of Lionys**_**, time frame 3-4 months following **_**Aurelian**_**. The next spring, when Arthur begins his progress to visit the spousal candidates… I will be posting the first part of chapter 1 as soon as it's written as a last chapter on this story, just to let you all know that it's begun… **

* Viltred Sern, _The Swordsman's Oath_, by Juliet E. McKenna

Also, LCT, don't feel bad! I just enjoy responding to reviews… Yep, good Morgana so far. I have my own opinion on her character in canon… but as far as my a/u goes, her dreams at least have been given credence by Arthur and Gaius, her magic supported by Merlin as much as possible, and then the whole 'illegality' issue never enters in. The most she fears is her father's disappointment/disapproval, and a kind of societal-banishment from Camelot (as the center of civilization for their land) and no chance for a good marriage… so her confession isn't AS big a deal as it would have been in the show… but she still makes different (better?) choices here…


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I'll go ahead and give you this notice: I'm going to be doing something with the sequel I haven't done so far, which is, to write from female pov. That's right, there won't be Arthur or Merlin pov (at least in the first part, I'm keeping the option open for the ending and/or sequel). Also a new genre heading: romance. Arthur&Merlin will take something of a back seat to developing canon pairings… Just so no one is disappointed in their expectations with the new story… but please do give it a try, if you've liked this a/u, and let me know in review or pm if I'm doing okay with it…**

**The Towers of Lionys**

**Chapter 1: **

"I can see them opening the city gate… My lady, they're here. He's here!" Enid rushed in from the balcony overlooking the city, cheeks flushed with excitement.

She only shifted her position on the overstuffed cushion and turned a page of her book. Trying with all her might to keep contained the turmoil of emotions the older girl's words had stirred up in her again.

The idea of arranged marriage was an old one. As a child she'd paid it little mind, daydreaming about a handsome prince falling irrevocably in love with her at first sight, though the most important thing about him at that time was the white stallion he'd give her rides on. A few years later, she was convinced that she'd probably meet a dashing knight, noble if penniless, while she was charging about the countryside on quests of her own.

As she'd entered her teen years, her daydreams had coalesced and focused on one young knight, one of her brother's companions, now the captain of her father's guard. Though he had always been too correct and polite to show her anything beyond solicitous deference, and she'd never dared breathe his name specifically even to Enid, she never ceased hoping she could someday turn his heart and his head, and together they could persuade her father that their marriage was meant to be. That she need not consider a stranger. That Lancelot would be the best husband she could ever hope for.

The missive they'd received from Camelot that winter was a surprise. She'd turned down two offers already since she'd come of age – one from one of her father's cousins, and one from a northern knight who'd already buried two wives – without second thought or a moment's concern. But – a prince.

Her father, Lord De Gransse, would not pressure her into anything she truly didn't want, but she knew her duty. At least allow the visit, Father had suggested. It doesn't mean he's going to want you, Elyan had added, at once teasing and comforting.

"No need to get excited yet," she told Enid, turning another page though she hadn't read a single word on the last one. "It'll take them a quarter of an hour to ride here from the gate. Unless they were galloping?"

The older girl went to throw open the wardrobe, as eager for the visit, the first meeting, as if she were the candidate for bride. "But a _prince_, my lady," she gushed. "They say that Prince Arthur is very handsome."

"Hm," she said, refusing to agree. "And arrogant and self-centered and vain, no doubt." And no one would ever be as good as her knight in shining armor, as sweet and gentle and caring… if only she could get him to look at _her_.

"And noble and courteous and fair," her maid teased. "You never know – this man could be your _husband_."

Her heart did something totally against the laws of anatomy, and she wanted to rush to the balcony and hang over the railing for the first look at him. Prince Arthur of Camelot. Prospective groom.

The scary thing was, it was possible. She couldn't deny it, and that made her feel giddy. The great IF. If he was decent, tolerable.

If Lancelot continued oblivious to her – she couldn't propose to him, after all, or suggest the union to her father without the knight's knowledge and agreement – and how long might she spend persuading both men, one to give her and one to take her?

It made her feel hollow inside, anxious and lost, the enormity of the decision that stared her in the face – the rest of her life at stake – happiness and changes and… family. It made her feel self-conscious, knowing that he'd come to look her over as well, as a future bride. Like a filly in a pen. Discuss her pedigree, analyze her conformation, put her through her paces. Stare at her so long and so hard she was too befuddled to learn anything about _him_.

"Do you have a preference" Enid asked, and she lifted her eyes from the page, drawing her attention back to the practicalities of the moment.

The red velvet gown, highly suggestive of the Camelot colors, was hung over the open door of the wardrobe, obscuring the mirror, while the older girl held the plum-colored silk up to her own body for her mistress to decide between them. Enid was statuesque, tall and slender yet curvy, her hair and coloring almost as dark as Guinevere's own; not for the first time she thought of how perfect that dress would look on her maid's frame.

A thought struck her suddenly, so daring and so brilliant that she let the book fall and pushed to her feet. "I have an idea," she declared.


End file.
